One Little Curse
by Ketterly
Summary: Spike shows up at the Hyperion a younger version of himself.  Warning: Will contain corporal punishment, so please don't read it if that's not your thing.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: All right, here's the deal. These types of stories normally don't appeal to me, but I read several on here with pint-sized and/or teenage versions of Spike, and I kinda loved them. So I decided that I'd just steal that idea... er, I mean, _use _that idea and write one of my own._

_Now. This will be, I assure you, shameless fluff and nothing more. It will also contain corporal punishment, so if that turns you off, just leave now. Seriously. Go. Still here? Okay then._

_This is a sequel to my "Guilty Feelings" story and is set five years after the end of that one, but it will be written in third person omniscient instead of being limited to Connor's point of view. That's not a style that I have used a lot; I very well may suck at it._

_Don't worry, I am still working on the other one. It is nearing completion in my head. On paper, I got nothin'.  
_

* * *

Something was clearly wrong. No one ever knocked at the Hyperion, not ever. They just barged right in, either old friends taking up residence for awhile or clients pleading for help. Connor stood rooted to his spot in Angel's—and his, too, now, he supposed—office, peering at the door. The loud, frantic knock came again, and he finally got himself moving to answer it.

"Hello," he said politely, stifling his surprise at seeing a nun and a little boy at the door. "Can I help you?"

"I believe this belongs to you," the dour nun said curtly, nodding at the boy but not quite looking at him.

"Um," Connor said uncertainly. "No, no I don't think it does. You must have the wrong address."

"Hi, Uncle Connor," a chipper little British voice piped up.

Connor gaped down at the child in pure shock. That voice could only belong to a very, very pre-pubescent Spike.

"What the hell?" Connor asked before he'd remembered his present company. "What—what did he do? How did this happen?"

The questions fell on deaf ears, however. No sooner had Connor acknowledged that he _might_ know this child than the nun had returned to her modest yellow Chevy Nova and sped off down the street, squealing the tires along the way.

"Guess you're stuck with me, then," Spike commented nonchalantly. "When's dinner?"

"I repeat—_what the hell_?" Connor asked, only moving to let the boy in when he found himself suddenly laden with a tiny, surprisingly heavy suitcase.

"Got myself shrunk," the boy answered easily, shrugging.

"You 'got yourself shrunk?'" Connor repeated. "What do you mean, you 'got yourself shrunk?'"

"Oh," Spike replied, sticking his hands in his little jacket pockets. "I've got a letter somewhere. Tells what happened."

"Dad!" Connor suddenly bellowed in the direction of the staircase. "Dad! I think you should get down here!"

"No!" Spike whispered, his tiny voice suddenly full of alarm. "What are you doing? What are you calling _him_ for?"

"What am I... Spike..." Connor sputtered. "Didn't you think he might wonder what a little kid was doing running around the hotel in the middle of the night? Or tomorrow, or the next day? I assume you do plan to stay?"

"I thought we just wouldn't tell him," Spike replied earnestly. "I'm real little. I could just hide."

Connor stared at him silently for several seconds before yelling upstairs again.

"Oh, found the letter!" Spike said proudly, producing a crumpled wad from somewhere on his person. "You can still read most of it."

"Most of it?" Connor asked, taking the offered paper.

"Well," Spike answered rather shyly. "I sort of spilled juice on it."

"What is it, Connor?" Angel asked as he finally appeared. "What's the matter? What—oh. Hello."

Angel peered down at the little boy, who was chewing on his bottom lip, and then back to Connor questioningly.

"I think we should sit down," Connor suggested, walking toward the nearest couch. "All of us. This is going to be hard to believe, Dad, but—"

"Oh. My. God," Angel suddenly interrupted, dropping down to one knee and gathering Spike's face in both his hands. "Spike! What the _hell_ did you do?"

"Okay, not so hard to believe, then," Connor muttered. "I think I'm still gonna sit."

Angel gently turned Spike's face one way and then the other before looking him straight in the eye and demanding sternly,

"Change back!"

"I-I can't, Angel," Spike said, trying to pull his face away. "I didn't do it on purpose."

"There's a letter," Connor said. "From someone named Harmony. Know her?"

"Oh, lord," Angel sighed, standing but unable to take his eyes off the miniature Spike in front of him. "You're telling me _Harmony_ managed to do this to you?"

"Not her," Spike answered. "She hired a witch to do it."

"Why?" Angel prompted.

Spike shrugged.

"Don't you shrug at me," Angel scolded. "Why did Harmony do … this … to you?"

"Why d'you think?" Spike asked hotly. "She got tired of me."

"Harmony _has no soul_," Angel chided. "What were you doing hanging around her, anyway? You should have known better!"

"Don't yell at me," Spike said, backing away, his little face flushing.

"It says he'll get better," Connor summarized. "It's a curse, but it'll wear off after awhile. She seems really proud of herself, this Harmony..."

"How long?" Angel asked.

"Not sure," Connor answered.

"How long have you been like this already?" Angel asked Spike.

"I dunno," Spike answered, suddenly plopping down into the floor and crossing his legs.

"What are you doing?" Angel demanded.

"Got tired."

"Well..." Angel said awkwardly, frowning. "Come on, let's sit on the couch."

He reached down to pick him up, but Spike flinched and rolled away before he could.

Angel sighed and shook his head. It would be _just_ like Spike to go and get himself into something like this and then come crawling back to him for help. Typical.

"I need to make a phone call," he said. "Connor, would you … just … watch him, or something."

"I'm hungry," Spike nearly whined as soon as Angel had disappeared from sight. "Do you got any blood?"

"You mean you're still a vampire?" Connor asked in surprise.

"Well, yeah," Spike replied as if he were stupid.

"Angel probably has some," he answered uncertainly, walking toward the fridge in the corner. "Hold on."

After a lot of rummaging through the cabinet, Connor finally found Spike's old Sex Pistols mug. Angel had kept it on the counter for almost a year before he had stored it away, deciding that Spike had meant it that time and really wasn't coming back. He filled the mug half full—Spike was just little, after all—and warmed it before bringing it back to the couch.

"Here you go," he said.

"Cool! My mug!" Spike exclaimed happily. "Figured it was gone."

"No, we kept it," Connor said, for lack of anything better to say.

Spike gripped the mug in both hands and downed the liquid, spilling a fair amount of it on his shirt. Connor grimaced but didn't comment.

"We had these little plastic cups at the orphanage," Spike said nonchalantly when he'd finished his drink. "They had lids and a little spout thing to drink from. Sippy cups. Those were easier."

"You're like, six years old, at least," Connor said disapprovingly. "You shouldn't need a sippy—wait. You've been at an orphanage?"

"Yeah. You saw the nun," Spike answered. "She didn't like me much."

"Spike, just... This is too weird."

"It's real," Spike said, pinching him hard on the forearm.

"Ow!" Connor shrieked, pulling back.

"See?"

"You little brat!" Connor replied, rubbing at his arm.

"I was just showing you it wasn't a dream," Spike said defensively. "Don't be cross."

"I'm not cross," Connor answered crossly.

"You're cross," Spike accused, and all of a sudden his lower lip began to quiver. "You are!"

"Oh, don't," Connor said helplessly, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. "It's okay. I'm not mad. Not at all. Don't cry."

"Not cryin'," Spike answered, turning to his side and hiding his face in the crook of his arm.

"C'mere," Connor said, gathering him around the waist and pulling him straight into his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I'm not mad at you."

"Do you promise?" Spike asked hopefully.

"Promise," Connor answered, stroking his hair, which appeared to be a light brown without all the dye.

Angel eventually returned. To his credit, he only did a slight double take at seeing Spike cuddled up in Connor's lap.

"Called Willow," he reported. "She'd heard of this curse. Says it'll wear off."

"Yeah, I already told you that from the letter," Connor reminded him. "What else?"

Angel peered at Spike, who peered right back.

"Let's get him to bed; then we'll talk," he said.

"I wanna hear!" Spike protested.

"No," Angel answered firmly. "You're going straight to bed. It is way past time for little boys to be asleep."

"I'm a vampire!" Spike reminded him. "I'm s'posed to stay up all night!"

"Bed," Angel repeated.

"I'll take him up," Connor said, getting to his feet and swinging Spike to his side.

Spike wrapped his legs around Connor's waist and laid his head on his shoulder. Connor carried him to his old room and set him down in the middle of the floor.

"All my stuff's still here," Spike commented, looking around the room in wonder. "But it's all really high up."

"Yeah," Connor said, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. "I guess it is, if you're a little shrimp."

He glanced at the bed. The covers were all dusty. That wouldn't do.

"I'm gonna find you some different blankets," he told him. "You just stay right here, okay?"

"Okay," Spike readily agreed.

The bed, it was just too tempting. Spike grabbed hold of the blanket and pulled himself up. Once there, he tried one tentative bounce before deciding the bed would probably hold up at least long enough for him to have some fun. When Connor returned with fresh blankets, he was bouncing as hard and as high as he could go.

"Hey, whoa!" Connor said, dropping his armload of sheets and quilts into the floor. "Quit that! Get down from there right now."

"How come?" he asked innocently. "I was just bouncin'."

"You might bounce right into the floor and hurt yourself," Connor scolded.

"I'm immortal," Spike scoffed.

"That doesn't mean it won't hurt if you break your arm," Connor said, picking him up and dropping him gently to the floor. "Now help me make this bed."

"Oh, all right," he murmured.

Spike wasn't much help, but he seemed to be trying his best, so Connor didn't comment on it.

"Let me go get your suitcase," Connor said, smoothing out the clean comforter. "Do you have any pajamas in there?"

"I dunno," Spike answered, stretching out on the bed.

Connor sighed.

"You'd better not be bouncing when I get back..."

Spike rolled his eyes and grinned mischievously, making Connor wonder if he'd just unknowingly and unintentionally issued a challenge. When he got to the lobby, he found Angel going through Spike's things and, he could have sworn, "ooh"ing and "aww"ing over little shoes and little socks.

"Dad?" he said, and Angel jumped guiltily. "Does he have pajamas?"

"Uh, yeah," Angel said, rifling through the clothes. "I mean, I might have seen some."

"Good," Connor said, coming to collect the suitcase. "I wonder who gave him this stuff?"

"Beats me," Angel said, snapping the case shut and handing it to him.

"This is too weird," Connor commented. "I'll be right back."

Connor couldn't have been gone for more than a couple minutes, but when he returned, Spike had fallen asleep. Not having the heart to wake him, Connor gently pulled off his shoes—little red high top sneakers—and set them beside the bed. He could just sleep in his clothes tonight. Connor maneuvered the blanket up and over him and turned out the light. He left the door open, though, just in case his friend woke up and needed anything.

"Okay, Dad," Connor said when he reached the lobby. "What the fuck?"

"Language, Connor, geez," Angel corrected. "We have a child in the house now."

The two momentarily looked at each other before they both burst into laughter. Connor didn't think he'd ever seen Angel laugh so hard. It was all just too absurd.

"I know what this is," Angel laughed, catching his breath. "This is his payback for making fun of me when I was a puppet!"

"What now?" Connor asked, all laughed out. "You were a puppet?"

"Oh, yeah," Angel said, waving it off. "I'll tell you about it sometime. But not now."

"Yeah, now I think we have bigger problems. Or one little problem. I'm not sure. What the fu... What's going on, Dad?"

"Okay, okay," Angel said, trying hard to get his laughter under control. "Willow said that it'll wear off, but it might take weeks or even a few months, depending on the power of the witch who did the spell. He should have all his memories intact, but he won't be able to process information like an adult."

"So, you mean, like, he looks like a six year old, so he thinks like one?" Connor asked. "It's like he really is a little kid? Not just a … a mini Spike?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Angel said.

"But he seems to have such a good vocabulary for such a little guy," Connor said. "He didn't really talk like a little kid."

"Spike is very smart," Angel said almost proudly. "I guess he probably always was. You're just used to him trying to hide it."

"So... He knows us... And he knows he's a vampire..."

"Right," Angel said, nodding.

"So, what?" Connor asked. "We're just gonna wait it out? Can't Willow or someone just undo it for us?"

"I didn't ask," Angel said, smirking.

"You're enjoying this way too much," Connor pointed out, though he couldn't help smiling himself.

"It'll be good for him," Angel said dismissively.

"You do realize that if he _thinks _like a little kid, he's going to _act _like one, too, right?" Connor asked. "I mean, I went to get him some clean blankets and when I came back, I caught him jumping on the bed."

That set Angel off again, and he laughed so hard that he thought he might cry. The only thing that quelled the glee was Connor's urgent insistence that he quieten down and not wake the little boy.

Angel stayed up under the premise of "doing paperwork" until well after Connor went to bed, and then a little bit past that to make sure that his son was asleep, and then he crept upstairs and stood in the doorway to gaze upon the little Spike. Ha. Spike. That was a silly name for a little boy—or for anyone, for that matter. Maybe he would call him William for the duration of this curse. Or Will. Will was kind of cute. There weren't many boys named Will anymore.

As Angel stood lost in his thoughts, Spike unexpectedly flopped over and dumped himself straight into the floor with a dull thud. Angel winced, but the sleeping Spike didn't even stir except to reach up and pull his blanket down from the bed to cover himself up. An audible "Aww" escaped Angel's mouth at that, but Spike continued to sleep unaware. After much deliberation, Angel decided that yes, he should probably put the kid back in the bed, so he made his way silently across the room and scooped the little boy, blanket and all, into his arms and deposited him back onto the bed. He fixed the blanket around him, and for good measure, tucked him in tight.


	2. Chapter 2

"Connor," Spike whispered, shoving him lightly.

The little boy sighed. Shoving Connor didn't seem to do any good at all. Wasn't he trained to jump up ready to fight at the slightest noise? He must have gone soft in his old age.

"Connor," he repeated more urgently.

Connor only snorted in his sleep and rolled over.

Spike grinned a devilish grin for no one in particular before reaching out and running the nail of his index finger straight up Connor's bare foot that was hanging out from underneath the covers.

Connor's eyes flew open.

"Hi," Spike greeted from right there on his bed. "I been here for ages. Thought you'd never wake up."

Connor regarded him silently for several seconds before he was fully satisfied that the previous night's events hadn't been one of his weird, messed up dreams.

"What time is it?" he finally groaned sleepily, reaching for his alarm clock and pulling it toward him to read the obnoxious orange display.

"Eight in the morning... Spike... We don't get up at eight in the morning in this house. You know that."

He attempted to set his clock back down on his nightstand, but missed, and it clunked noisily to the floor. They both ignored it.

"You made me go to bed too early," Spike pointed out. "Now I'm up, and I want breakfast."

"Then go get some," Connor said, closing his eyes and slinging one arm over his face. "You know where the fridge is."

"I want you to get it," Spike insisted. "I... Well, all right. You may as well find out now."

"What?" Connor asked warily, suddenly quite a bit more awake.

Spike bit his bottom lip.

"Never mind," he said.

"What did you do?" Connor asked, pulling himself reluctantly out of bed and yanking a t-shirt over his head.

"Nothin'," Spike mumbled. "I'll go back to bed."

"Should I go wake up Angel?" Connor asked pointedly.

He didn't like having to invoke his father's name like that, but it was the only thing his half-asleep brain could come up with to get this boy to talk.

"No!" Spike said quickly. "Just... Fine, come on."

With a sigh, Spike led Connor downstairs. He hadn't really wanted to admit to this mistake, but honestly, who else in the house would have been covering frosted flakes with pig's blood and missed the bowl? And then knocked the bowl off the counter... And then accidentally tracked the mess through the lobby...

"Aw, man," Connor groaned immediately upon seeing the mess. "How did you even manage all this?"

"Don't tell on me!" Spike begged. "Please?"

"'Tell on you?'" Connor asked, amused. "What are we, five? … Oh. Right. Well, I assume this was an accident?"

"Yes," Spike agreed, nodding earnestly.

"Then there's nothing to tell on you for, is there?" Connor asked, giving him a reassuring pat on the head. "I'll help you clean it up."

"Oh," Spike said, sounding disappointed.

"What, you thought I'd just clean it all up myself?" Connor asked, smirking.

"No," Spike lied, sullenly taking the dish towel that Connor handed him.

"I just had these floors redone, you know," Connor informed him, stooping down to swipe a mess of bloody cereal back toward its bowl. "And here you are trying to repaint them with blood."

"Who's repainting the floors?" Angel asked groggily as he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "What are you talking about, Connor? We just had the floors done, why do you want someone to paint—oh."

Spike noticed that Angel noticed the mess, and he immediately burst into tears.

"What happened?" Angel asked, and though he sounded neither angry nor upset, Spike continued to cry.

"Just an accident," Connor said, washing his hands. "Go back to bed, Dad."

"I didn't mean to," Spike blubbered brokenly to Connor. "I swear I didn't."

"Don't cry, buddy," Connor said, kneeling down and using a thumb from each hand to wipe the tears from both of Spike's cheeks concurrently. "It was just an accident. You're not in trouble. Okay?"

Spike glanced warily at Angel before slowly nodding his acceptance of that statement.

"Just be a little more careful," Angel said mildly, taking the dish towel from Spike and cleaning up the mess himself.

Spike burst into fresh tears at the gentle scolding, and Angel immediately handed the dish towel to Connor and knelt down in front of Spike himself.

"Hey, now," he said. "What's all this about, champ?"

Spike took an instinctive step back, and a grimace of pain crossed Angel's face, but he tried his best to suppress it and pretend like he hadn't noticed Spike's unconscious attempt at fleeing.

"Do you want me to fix you a new bowl of cereal?" he offered gently.

After he received an encouraging glance from Connor behind Angel's back, Spike nodded shyly.

When Angel handed Spike his new bowl of cereal, the little boy stood there looking uncertain.

"What?" Angel asked kindly. "Do you want something else?"

Spike shook his head, but didn't say anything.

"What's the matter, then?" Angel asked. "Do you want to ask me something?"

"Can there be cartoons? On the telly?" Spike finally asked, clearly doubtful.

"You bet there can!" Angel answered enthusiastically, and Spike smiled up at him with relief. "You can even eat that in my room, on my bed. If you promise not to spill it..."

Spike nodded again, without needing Connor's encouragement this time, and Angel took him upstairs to get him settled in.

"When did you get a telly?" Spike asked rather timidly as Angel piled pillows up on both sides of him. "And what are you doing?"

"Connor made me," Angel answered, ignoring the other question as he continued to secure the little vampire on the bed with pillows. "He said never watching television wasn't healthy for me. So I put it in here to shut him up."

"Never turn it on, do you?" Spike asked with a grin.

"Nope," Angel said, returning the grin, and then tapped him playfully on the nose. "And don't you go telling him so, either."

"Well... I won't if you're nice," Spike answered, sounding quite serious.

"Here," Angel said, placing the remote in the hand not occupied with the cereal bowl. "I don't know how to work it, so you're on your own."

"I think I can manage," Spike answered, already turning his attention toward the television.

Angel smiled, shook his head, and returned downstairs to talk to his son about the day's plans.

* * *

It was a mess. It was an absolute mess. In fact, it bordered on being a disaster, and Spike loved every bit of it. He gathered an armload of feathers from the floor, clambered awkwardly back to the top of Angel's bed, and let them fly. That was almost as good as the initial feather flood when the pillow first broke, but not quite.

"And then, he continued to hit me with the pillow until the damn thing split open," he heard Connor saying as two pairs of feet mounted the stairs. "And _this_ was the result."

Spike stood guiltily on the bed as Angel took in the scene before him. Ten million—no, maybe twenty million—feathers. Everywhere. On Spike. On the floor. On the bed. On the bookcase, the lampshade, and even lying across the tops of the picture frames on the walls. Everywhere.

"Wow," Angel commented lightly.

"Wow?" Connor asked irritably.

"Did you do this, young man?" Angel asked, doing his best to glare at the little vampire.

"Yeah," Spike answered, hopping down from the bed and standing in a particularly fluffy pile of feathers. They felt good underneath his bare feet.

"And did Connor tell you to stop?" Angel continued.

"Maybe."

"Did he tell you to stop hitting him with the pillow? _My _pillow?" Angel demanded. "Long before it broke?"

"Yeah," Spike answered, chewing on his bottom lip and twisting the hem of his shirt in his little fists.

"Yet you kept doing it," Angel said.

"Yeah," Spike said softly.

"You know better than that," Angel scolded, though he wasn't entirely sure that was the case. "You owe Connor an apology. Right now."

Spike didn't really want to apologize. He didn't see the need to. It had been Connor's fault, really. Connor was the one who wouldn't leave him alone. He'd just wanted to finish watching his program, but Connor kept standing in the way of the telly, making demands like, "Come on, we really need to get you into some clean clothes" and "Stop swinging that pillow around like that; you're going to damage it, and you know how Angel likes his pillows." If Angel liked his pillows so much, why had he piled them all around Spike like that? Surely he'd meant for him to play with them, at least a little. Right?

"Sorry," he offered sullenly, staring at some little white feathers that had made their way between his toes.

"You can do better than that," Angel said sternly.

"Sorry I didn't listen to you, and that I made a big mess," he offered.

"And now you're going to clean this big mess up," Angel instructed. "Every single feather, you hear me?"

Clean it up? Why on earth would he want to clean it up? It was amazing! It was like... like having snow inside, only it wasn't all cold and melty, just pretty. Why did they want to take away all his pretty decorations?

"No! I'll not!" Spike shouted defiantly, stomping his foot for good measure, which sent a few stray feathers flying back into the air.

"What do you mean, you'll not?" Angel asked, taken aback. "You'll do it, or I'll warm your little bottom for you. Is that what you want?"

"I won't, I won't, I won't!" Spike insisted.

Angel took a step toward him, and Spike tried to flee, but his legs were short and couldn't get him out of harm's way fast enough. Angel grasped him firmly by one arm and spun him around, kneeling down so that they were eye level with each other.

"Now, you listen to me, young man," Angel said sternly. "This behavior is _not_ acceptable. You are not going to talk to me like that, do you understand?"

Spike's only reply was a petulant pout.

"You are just a little boy," Angel continued. "Little boys don't always get their way. Little boys have to do as they're told."

"I won't..." Spike said, but he sounded far less sure of himself.

"Then you'll have to get a spanking," Angel said matter-of-factly, drawing his hand back threateningly.

"No!" Spike whined, twisting his behind out of the way and jutting his lower lip out farther than it should have been able to go. "No, don't! I'll do it! I'll clean it up!"

"That's my good boy," Angel said, scooping Spike up into his arms and tousling his hair. "I'll help you clean it all up, okay?"

Connor rolled his eyes. When it came to little Spike, Angel just had no backbone. If that had been little Connor, he'd have already had his butt beat with the wooden spatula, he was sure of it.

"Angel?" Spike said timidly.

"Yeah, champ?"

"I... I just wanted to keep it for a little while longer, that's all," he tried to explain. "'Cause it's pretty."

"You think it's pretty?" Angel asked in surprise, glancing around the room as if trying to see it from Spike's point of view.

"It is pretty, don't you think?" Spike asked.

"Well, okay," Angel said noncommittally. "I'll tell you what. How about we take a picture of it before we clean it up? Then you can always remember how pretty it was. Without _ever_ making a mess like this again, got it?"

"Got it," Spike grumbled.

"Connor, bring me the camera," Angel said.

"Why, certainly," Connor said sarcastically. "Since you asked so nicely and all."

If Angel didn't appreciate his tone of voice, he didn't mention it. That irked Connor a little bit. He obediently fetched the camera, however, and watched as Angel "taught" Spike how to use it, though he was fairly certain Spike probably already knew how better than Angel did.


	3. Chapter 3

"All I'm saying is, we have the money to do it," Connor continued. "So I really think it'd be a good idea to get someone to watch him for us. Then we'd have more time to devote to cases. You know, those things that bring the money in."

"Connor, it's only been two days," Angel said dismissively. "We are perfectly capable of taking care of him. We don't need a nanny."

"Yeah, and you said we didn't need a cleaning service, either, but look how great they've been for us," Connor pointed out. "Every two weeks, all the dirt disappears."

"Yeah, that's nice and all, but we didn't _need _it," Angel argued.

"Fine, then I'll just call them and cancel," Connor threatened, reaching for the phone.

"No!" Angel said quickly, and then ran his fingers through his hair. "You're being difficult. It's not the same thing, and you know it."

"Dad, no offense, but neither of us has a clue how to take care of a little kid."

"What is there to know?" Angel asked, sounding rather defensive. "Hungry—feed him. Tired—put him to bed. Bored—play with him. It can't be that hard."

"Oh, brother," Connor mumbled under his breath as he continued to flip through the classifieds in the paper.

"What?" Angel asked sharply.

"Nothing," Connor replied, keeping his eyes trained on the inky columns.

"No. What?" Angel demanded. "What's on your mind?"

"Well," Connor started reluctantly, afraid this would somehow turn into a bigger argument than he had the energy to commit to. "It's just that, I remember when Abby was little, and how much time my mom had to devote to her, and all the trouble she'd get herself into..."

"Connor, those memories aren't even real," Angel snapped before he'd truly considered the words.

Connor frowned deeply and took several deep breaths.

"Oh, Connor," Angel said apologetically. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean... I'm sorry, son. I shouldn't have said that."

Connor shook his head slowly, not yet trusting himself to speak. He slid out of his chair and tossed the paper onto the desk before making his way out the office door.

"Connor!" Angel called. "Connor, come back. Please!"

"You know what? Fuck you, Angel!" he spat back, continuing straight out the front doors.

Angel sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. God, he was such a screw-up. Why had he said that to Connor? Of all the stupid things... And his son was trying so hard, too, and doing such good work for him. Things had been difficult after Gunn and Illyria had both left, and after his blow-up with Spike... Connor had been there for him ever since. And now Angel felt like he was on the verge of pushing his son away for good, just like he inevitably did with everyone.

"Where's Connor?" Spike asked shyly, hanging just inside the doorway. "He said he'd play a game with me."

"He had to go out," Angel replied gruffly, wiping at his eyes and hoping Spike didn't notice.

"Oh," Spike replied.

"Do you want me to play a game with you?" Angel offered.

"I-I don't know," Spike answered, looking away. "If you wanted to, I guess. If you're not real busy. But I get to pick the game."

"Okay," Angel agreed slowly. "What did you have in mind? No chess."

"I do not cheat," Spike said firmly, giving him a small smile.

"What would you like to play?" Angel asked.

"Twister," Spike answered with a mischievous grin.

"Twister," Angel repeated with dismay.

"Just foolin'," Spike said, producing a pack of cards from his pocket.

"Oh, poker," Angel said with relief.

"No," Spike said, frowning. "Go Fish."

"I don't think I'm familiar with that one," Angel admitted, lifting Spike up into the chair across from his desk.

"Oh, don't worry. I can teach you," Spike said, already dealing out the cards. "I should probably warn you, though. I'm really good."

Angel became increasingly frustrated as the game wore on. One, Spike was almost assuredly cheating, even though he couldn't catch him at it. And two, Connor still hadn't returned. He kept checking his phone every few minutes, but there were no messages or calls. He even moved it from one spot on his desk to another and back again, just in case the signal was lousy.

"What are you doing?" Spike asked, his tone indicating that he'd already asked once and not received a reply.

"Hmm?" Angel said absently, looking through his inbox just in case he'd missed a message and that fickle little notification envelope hadn't shown up again. He swore that had happened before.

"Can we go out when it gets dark?" Spike asked, abandoning both the game and his previous question.

"Go where?" Angel asked, and then cringed. He'd meant to just say no.

"Get ice cream!" Spike announced. "And... and cake! And go see a movie, and also get popcorn at the movie."

"I don't know, pal," Angel said, sighing. "I think we should probably stay home tonight."

"Aww," Spike said, but amazingly didn't push the issue any further. "When's Connor coming home?"

"I don't know, pal," Angel said.

"Did you get in a fight?" Spike asked knowingly.

"Yeah," Angel answered honestly as he put down his collection of 3's.

"Is he in trouble?" Spike asked worriedly.

"No, honey," Angel answered. "I might be, though."

"Is he real mad?" Spike asked in a whisper.

"I don't know, pal," Angel said again.

"You should call him," Spike advised. "And tell him you're really sorry, and that you'll never do it again."

Angel smiled wryly.

"I should, eh?"

"Yeah," Spike said, nodding. "That's what I would do. You got any 5's?"

"Go fish," Angel answered.

* * *

Connor listened to the voicemail again and felt like a total jerk.

"So yeah, he's really sorry, and he says he'll never do it again, and that he'll be good," Spike's whispered message had proclaimed. "So I think you should come home now. I'm really bored, and Angel's rubbish at games. Bye."

The message made him smile.

He knew he shouldn't have been so hateful to his dad, and he regretted it. What'd he said was really ugly, and he didn't remember ever having said that to Angel before—though he may have thought it a time or two. He knew he wouldn't get punished for it or anything. Angel hadn't given him anything more than a playful whack in several years. But his father was the master of the disappointed look, and Connor really wasn't ready to face that yet.

But then he felt incredibly guilty for just taking off like that. What if Angel'd had to leave? Who would have watched Spike? And it being the middle of the day, someone could conceivably have just come in there and opened all the windows, and the sunlight would be streaming in, and Spike would be on fire and oh God, he had to get home.

He shoved the rest of the blueberry muffin he'd been nursing for the past hour into his mouth and downed the rest of his cold mocha before grabbing his coat off the chair and heading for the door.

The thought of a little pile of Spike dust adorning the new hardwood floor of the lobby compelled him to step on the gas a little harder, and just as the speedometer of his shiny orange Mustang—Angel didn't approve of the car, said it was too flashy, but Connor loved it—informed him that he'd reached 82 mph, he saw the blue lights in the rear view mirror.

"Jesus," he muttered as he pulled off to the side of the highway. "Could this day get any worse?"

"License and registration," the officer demanded before he'd even made it all the way to the car.

Connor fished around in his glove box and retrieved the necessary paperwork. He handed that and his license out the window and tried to look as innocent as possible.

"Son, do you wanna tell me why you were going 80 in a 70?" the officer asked, only giving the papers a perfunctory glance before handing them back through the window.

Connor sighed. No, no he did not want to tell him.

"I'm sorry, officer," he said, trying to plaster a winning smile on his face, but only managing a sheepish grin. "I guess I didn't realize how fast I was going."

"Mmm," the officer murmured, flipping through the pages of his ticket book.

"No, wait," Connor said helplessly as he realized he was about to get a ticket. It wouldn't be his first one, either.

"Yes?" the officer asked, pausing. "Is there something you have to tell me that would stop me from writing you this citation, young man?"

"No, sir," Connor said sullenly.

"Mmm," he said again before scribbling out the ticket and handing it over with a smirk.

"Thanks," Connor said, not quite able to curb the sarcasm.

"I'll be watching you," the officer said warningly as he looked the vehicle up and down. "Kinda hard to miss a bright orange car like this."

"Yeah," Connor said bitterly as he started the engine.

* * *

"I wasn't cheating!" Spike shouted as Connor entered the lobby.

"I told you to be quiet," Angel said.

Spike stomped his foot, but really, really hoped that Angel hadn't seen it. He'd already been in this blasted corner forever. Angel was the sorest loser he'd ever met.

"Connor!" Angel exclaimed with relief, rushing toward him.

"Can I come out of the corner now?" Spike asked unhappily.

"No," Angel said firmly. "You just got yourself another five minutes for asking."

"But I wanna say hi to Connor!" he whined.

"You can say hi in five minutes," Angel repeated.

"What's going on?" Connor asked quietly, finding he couldn't quite meet Angel's gaze yet.

"_Someone_ got caught cheating red-handed at Go Fish, so he's doing his time," Angel said.

Connor snorted.

"I'm never playing with you again!" Spike declared hotly to the corner.

"Shush," Angel said mildly. "Connor, where've you been?"

Connor shrugged uncomfortably.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have run off like that."

"It's okay," Angel said gently.

"It's not," Connor said, shaking his head. "It was stupid. I apologize. And about what I said... I apologize for that, too."

Angel gave him an apprehensive look before closing the gap between them and wrapping Connor in a fierce hug. He stepped back after a few seconds and brushed some imaginary dust from Connor's sleeves.

"There. Very manly, I know," Angel said, smiling affectionately at his son. "Connor, I'm the one who should apologize. I... I'm stupid. I'm sorry. Your father is stupid."

"You're not stupid, Dad," Connor said as he pulled his latest speeding ticket out of his coat pocket. "But if you're feeling especially sorry, do you think maybe I could write this off as a business expense?"

Angel snatched the ticket from him and frowned at it.

"Connor," he admonished. "Again?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Connor cut him off. "'Don't buy an orange Mustang; the cops will be all over you.' I know, Dad. You were right; I was wrong. Like usual."

"I wasn't going to say any of that," Angel said defensively, and then added under his breath, "But I did tell you so."

Connor glanced at the corner to see Spike positively bouncing up and down with impatience.

"Hasn't it been five minutes?" Connor asked, nodding at his little friend.

"No," Angel said. "But I guess he can come out anyway."

"Yes!" Spike cheered, running from the corner and attaching himself to Connor's leg. "I missed you! Angel tried to play with me, but he just got mad, and it was no fun at all!"

"Er... I'm sure it was _some_ fun," Connor prompted. "Right?"

"No, none at all," Spike insisted, oblivious—or perhaps simply immune—to Angel's glower.

"Well," Connor said, kneeling down and giving Spike a quick hug, "I won't leave you like that again, okay? We'll play together all you want."

"You mean it?" Spike asked excitedly.

"Well, within reason," Connor quickly clarified, and Spike wrapped his arms around his neck.

Angel stared longingly at the hug Spike bestowed upon Connor, but Connor tried to pretend he didn't notice. Spike obviously had some trust issues with Angel, because he'd been skittish around him ever since his little self had come through the door.

"Let's go upstairs to my room!" Spike nearly shouted.

"Okay, but I think first you should thank Angel for playing with you, don't you?" Connor suggested.

"Oh," Spike said glumly, giving Angel half a glance. "Thanks, I guess."

"Spike," Connor nearly laughed.

"Thank you, Angel," Spike dutifully recited, sticking out his little hand for Angel to shake. "And sorry I cheated..."

"No problem, pal," Angel said, giving Spike's hair a tousle that he gracefully accepted.

"I'll be up in a bit," Connor said, and Spike rushed upstairs.

"Should whip your butt for this," Angel said mildly, shaking the ticket at him.

"Yeah, but... But you're not going to, right?" Connor said, the mere fact that he had to ask making him blush from his neck to his forehead.

"I don't know. I need to think on it," Angel said elusively.

"Dad!" Connor protested, smiling nervously. "Come on. I'm practically an old man now."

"Still my little boy," Angel declared. "Now go play with your brother."

Connor rolled his eyes and headed upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Spike could crawl right up, and his friend would never suspect a thing. Connor slept like the dead lately, which was something Spike knew a thing or two about.

"What are you doing?" Connor suddenly demanded, rolling over and turning on his bedside lamp.

"Er..." Spike said, caught in mid-climb. "I … I was getting up on your bed."

"I can see that," Connor murmured sleepily, rubbing at his eyes and squinting to try and block out some of the light. "Why?"

"'Cause," Spike answered helpfully.

"'Cause why?" Connor asked. "You have your own bed to sleep in. And a hundred other ones in a hundred other rooms if you want."

"You never wake up when I want you to," Spike grumbled unhappily. "How come you woke up so quick just now?"

"That's easy," Connor answered, amused. "Because you didn't want me to. That's the way the world works."

"Can I sleep with you or not?" Spike asked, tired of beating around the bush.

"Why?" Connor asked.

"'Cause," Spike said simply.

"'Cause' isn't reason enough," Connor replied. "So no."

"Aww!" Spike said, crawling underneath the covers anyway and claiming one of Connor's pillows for himself. "But I hafta."

"You have to?" Connor asked skeptically. "Why? Did you wet your bed?"

"No!" Spike spat, offended and disgusted by the suggestion. "Of course not!"

"Why then?"

"I had a bad dream," Spike begrudgingly answered.

"Oh," Connor said uncomfortably.

He had no intention of asking what the dream was about. Spike had lived for many years and been a vampire for most of them. He probably had some rough dreams normally; Connor could imagine that any nightmare his six-year-old brain could cook up couldn't be pleasant.

"Fine," he finally acceded, reaching over to turn the light back off. "But you better not steal the covers. And if you snore, you're out of here."

"Cool!" Spike exclaimed happily. "And why would I snore? I don't breathe."

Connor knew that he probably shouldn't, but he felt extremely uncomfortable with this whole situation. He hadn't had to share a bed with anyone except lady friends in several years. The last time he'd even come close to sharing a bed with anyone else, his little sister had forgotten her sleeping bag on their annual family camping trip, and she'd thrown such a fit at their mother's suggestion that they share Connor's bag that he'd eventually given in and just let her have the damn thing all to herself. And that memory had merit; that was a _real_ memory, not one of those fake ones that Angel scoffed at.

Connor scooted as far toward the edge of the bed as he could go without hanging off and peered at Spike in the darkness. He was already asleep. Unlike Angel, and despite what Spike had just said, Spike seemed to do quite a bit of breathing in his sleep. He supposed it was habit.

Before he'd even realized what was happening, Spike had snuggled right up next to him and nestled his head onto his shoulder. Connor contemplated heaving him off of him and rolling him over, or better yet, getting up and finding another room to sleep in, but... Well, maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it was kinda cute.

* * *

"Rise and shine, sleepy heads," Angel said, flipping on the light.

Angel had already had a moment of panic that morning when he went to Spike's room and found him gone. He'd bolted into Connor's room to wake his son so that they could search for the little vampire but had found him tucked safely into Connor's bed—with all the covers and both pillows to himself.

Angel had smiled and left them to sleep a little longer, but he couldn't wait anymore. He really wanted them out of bed.

"No," Connor murmured, lifting his head, confused, as he realized that his pillow was missing. He yanked one out from under Spike's head and covered his eyes with it.

"Go 'way," Spike agreed, copying the action with the remaining pillow.

"Up and at 'em," Angel said, his voice chipper—and loud. Way too loud.

"Leave us alone," Connor said. "We're not done sleeping."

"We've got places to be and things to do," Angel informed him.

"Like what?" Connor asked, his voice muffled by the pillow. "What is so damn important that we have to get up at..."

"Noon?" Angel asked. "Just get up. Both of you."

"No," Connor answered, rolling over onto his stomach and pulling the covers up completely over his and Spike's heads.

"All right," Angel said, crossing the room.

He grasped the hem of the blanket and yanked it and the sheet completely off the bed.

"Hey!" the boys protested in unison.

"Get up," Angel said, punctuating each word with a single smack on each of two little bottoms.

"Don't spank us!" Spike said, scrambling frantically to his feet. "I'm up. I'm up! Connor, get up, or you're gonna get a smacking!"

Connor smiled at Spike's genuine concern for the well-being of his behind.

"I think I'll be all—ow! Dad!"

Connor rolled over and pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing at the back of his thigh where Angel had landed a second sharp slap.

"I told you," Spike mumbled smugly from the side of the bed.

"Hush," Connor ordered, and then turned to Angel. "Did you at least make me some coffee? You know I need coffee to go with my morning whuppin'."

"It's the afternoon, and that wasn't a whuppin'," Angel said, smiling and mussing up his son's hair. "You'd know if I whupped ya."

"Yeah, well," Connor said, blushing. "Is there coffee or not?"

"Of course," Angel answered. "Be dressed and in the kitchen in 15 minutes."

"Will you spank him real hard if he isn't?" Spike asked helpfully, sounding much too cheerful about it.

"God, you little sadist!" Connor complained in surprise, reaching out to whack Spike on the arm. "What the hell?"

"I just might, Will," Angel answered with a smirk, raising his eyebrows.

"Will?" Spike asked, unsure if he liked it or not. "That's not my name."

"It is too," Angel said.

"Is not," Spike argued. "My name is Spike."

"No," Angel said. "Spike is a name you gave yourself. Do little boys get to name themselves?"

Spike frowned while he thought about it.

"No," he finally said. "I guess not."

"Then your name is Will," Angel said with finality. "And I want Connor and _Will_ downstairs in … fourteen minutes now."

Connor sighed and headed toward his shower. He didn't really think Angel would "spank him real hard" if he didn't make it down within the time limit, but why push the issue? Angel seemed to be feeling particularly paternal since little Spike had shown up, and while Connor was definitely a grown-ass man, he wasn't at all sure that his dad wouldn't treat the two of them the same. Twenty-five and six probably didn't seem much different when you were 250+ years old.

"All right, Dad, I'm here," Connor said, making a beeline for the coffee pot. "What's so important that we had to get up at the crack of noon?"

"We're going out," Angel said.

"And may I remind you that the sun is still out there," Connor said, pouring an unhealthy amount of cream into his coffee.

"We'll take the sewers," Angel said, shrugging.

"Oh, gross," Connor groaned involuntarily. "I mean, Dad. Can't it just wait til later, whatever it is?"

"No," Angel said simply. "I wanna go out, so we're gonna go out."

"What for?" Connor asked. "Is it a case? Because you agreed that you would run every case by me first. You said we'd be partners, Dad, and if you're going to start just accepting stuff without consulting me—"

"It's not a case," Angel said. "Calm down. I just … I thought we could go to the mall."

"The mall?" Connor asked, almost spitting out his mouthful of coffee. "Dad … Dad, I don't do malls."

Connor Reilly, before he'd gotten his memories back, had really enjoyed the mall. The mall was where the girls were. But Connor Steven Franklin Thomas Holtz Angel Reilly—whoever the hell he was now—_did not do malls._

"It'll be fun," Angel insisted. "We'll take Spike and get him some ice cream, and maybe if we can find an arcade we can play some games..."

"I have more games than an arcade could ever hold on my phone," Connor pointed out. "Seriously, name what you want. Pac-Man? Frogger? Mario? I know, Pong. You want to play Pong?"

"No, I don't want ... I just thought it would be fun to go. Do something that families do. Together, the three of us."

"The mall is just a pit of misery, Dad," Connor warned. "You haven't been to one in a long time, so you don't know how bad it is. It's all pretzel stands and women's clothes and sullen teenagers in Hot Topic."

"It can't be that bad."

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I'm not going," he said quietly into his coffee cup. "I haven't been since … since I remembered what I did."

"We won't go to that one," Angel said. "There are dozens of malls. We'll go to a different one."

"It won't matter," Connor insisted. "I'm not going to any mall."

"Connor," Angel said, giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "It'll be fine. It'll be good for you."

"I'm _not going_," Connor repeated firmly.

"Going where?" Spike asked as he appeared in the kitchen.

Connor couldn't help but glance at the clock and see that Spike was a full five minutes past the allotted fifteen he'd had to make it downstairs, but Angel didn't notice.

"Nowhere, pal," Angel said, disappointed. "We're not going anywhere."

"Aww," Spike said, more disappointed than Angel even though he'd had no idea of their intended destination.

"There's no reason you two can't go," Connor said, feeling bad about crushing both their hopes so quickly. "I just don't want to."

"I'm not going without you," Angel said, shaking his head. "They'll eat me alive."

"There will be eating?" Spike said hopefully.

"Are you hungry, pal?" Angel asked. "I'll get you some blood."

"Ice cream!" Spike nearly shouted. "I want ice cream!"

"You can't live off ice cream," Connor said sullenly. "And you can't have ice cream for breakfast, anyway."

"Says you," Spike replied maturely. "Who made you boss?"

"Well, we're not going out, Will," Angel said, "so you'll have to make do with _sangre de cerdo_."

"What's that?" Spike asked, wrinkling his nose.

"It's a Spanish delicacy," Angel said, dumping some pig's blood into a mug. "You'll love it."

"Does it got marshmallows?" Spike asked.

"It … could, I guess," Angel said, the disgust clear on his face.

"And chocolate syrup?" Spike prompted.

"Chocolate syrup," Angel said with a frown. "Coming right up..."

"And sprink—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Connor interrupted. "Just stop. We'll go to the damn mall and get him some ice cream."

"Yes!" Angel and Spike exclaimed in unison, and then looked at each other uncomfortably.

"Spike, you're still in your pajamas," Connor noted. "You can't go to the mall in your pajamas."

"Why not?" Spike asked, completely unconcerned.

"Because people will stare at you."

"People always stare at me," Spike replied proudly. "I'm very handsome."

"You sure are," Angel agreed, ruffling his hair.

"Angel told us to be down here and dressed in fifteen minutes," Connor reminded him, wondering where this nagging tone he was using had come from.

"Nuh uh," Spike said with genuine surprise at the accusation. "He told _you_ to be down here and dressed in fifteen minutes!"

"He meant both of us," Connor insisted.

"Am I in trouble?" Spike asked, tearing up and covering his bottom with both hands. "Am I gettin' smacked?"

"Oh, lord," Angel said, rolling his eyes in Connor's general direction. "What are you upsetting him for? Of course you're not getting smacked, champ."

Angel leaned down and planted a kiss right on top of Spike's head before lifting him into his arms.

"Now let's go upstairs and get you changed, okay?"

Spike nodded and gave Connor a look that was somehow hateful, hurt, and smug all at once. Connor just shook his head.

It was going to be a long day.


	5. Chapter 5

"Carry me!" Spike demanded of Connor as soon as they'd slipped down into the sewer.

"No," Connor answered.

"Aww! Please?" Spike tried.

"No," Connor said resolutely. "Ask Angel to carry you."

"I don't want Angel to carry me," Spike said tactlessly.

"Thanks," Angel muttered, leading the way.

"He's not warm like you are," Spike continued. "And it's cold down here!"

"Oh, fine," Connor said, reaching down to get him. "But you owe me for this. Both of you."

Though he'd never admit it, Angel made two wrong turns and got them slightly lost. In order to keep from admitting his mistake, he took several different tunnels to avoid having to turn around, and soon his son and his … grandchilde … were complaining incessantly.

"I want you both to hush," he ordered sternly. "We're not even there yet, and you've already exhausted me."

"I'm tired, too!" Spike whined.

"I'm tired of carrying him!" Connor said, shifting Spike to his other side.

"How can you be tired of carrying me when you're so strong?" Spike asked innocently.

Connor knew manipulation when he heard it, but damn if it didn't work anyway.

"All right," he said, "but you're heavy for such a little thing."

"I'm not little!"

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Connor!" Angel snapped, and Connor jumped. "Stop it."

"'kay," Connor mumbled apologetically.

"You're gonna get in trouuu-bble," Spike sing-songed into his ear just loudly enough for him to hear.

"Am not," Connor whispered after a moment, unable to hide his grin.

"Are too," Spike whispered back.

"I can still hear you, you know," Angel said grumpily. "I would say we're turning around and going home, but we're here."

"Thank God," Connor muttered, pausing while Angel went up the ladder and tentatively poked his head out into the world.

"All right, up we go," Angel said, reaching behind him for Spike.

Once the three of them were safely above ground and in the shadows of the alley, Connor surveyed his shoes with disgust and scraped them off on the nearest stretch of concrete. Spike saw the action and decided he should do the same thing, even though he'd been carried the entire way.

"I hate the sewer," Connor grumbled.

"Me too!" Spike asserted. "I hate the sewer!"

"You do not," Angel answered, unclear to which of them he was speaking as he searched for a back entrance into the gigantic building. "Now hush. We are all going to be on our best behavior while we're in here. No fighting, no yelling, and no running off. Isn't that right?"

When he didn't receive an immediate reply in the affirmative, Angel whirled around and glared at Spike.

"I said, isn't that right?"

"Oh," Spike said, clearly a bit startled. "Yeah. No messing around. Got it."

Spike didn't say so, but he'd honestly thought Angel had been talking to Connor.

"Connor?" Angel asked.

Connor's mouth fell open, but before he could make a fool of himself with an indignant reaction, Angel winked at him.

"Yes, Angel," he replied dutifully. "No messing around."

"Good," Angel said, opening the door he'd found and ushering them in.

"Toys!" Spike exclaimed immediately and then visibly cringed at his own reaction. "Er... I mean, toys. Ho hum."

Angel smiled indulgently, clearly pleased that Spike was pleased.

"You wanna look around?" he asked. "We have plenty of time."

"Yeah!" Spike said excitedly, immediately forgetting Angel's earlier warning as he shot off down the nearest aisle.

As Angel went to retrieve Spike, Connor let out a deep breath. He was going to be okay. He was not going to freak out just because he was in a mall. Everything was going to be okay. He could totally do this. Besides, they'd begun in a toy store. How bad could it be, right?

* * *

How? How could they _still_ be in this toy store? How was it even possible?

Connor slumped further down against the back of the bench and exchanged a knowing glance with the old man sitting next to him.

"My wife's shopping for the grand kids," the old man offered pleasantly. "You?"

"Something like that," Connor said, remembering his manners and straightening up. "I think we've been in here for days."

"It feels that way," the old man agreed, chuckling. "Every time."

"No, I'm serious," Connor said. "It must have been days."

Just then, Angel finally appeared with Spike in tow. Both of them were laden with bags.

"I thought you told him he could have two things?" Connor asked, frowning as he got to his feet. "Not two hundred."

"Yeah, well," Angel answered by way of explanation. "Come on, we've got the rest of the place to check out."

Connor offered the old man on the bench a weak smile. He noticed he got an odd look in return, but the man eventually nodded his goodbye and gave him a short wave.

"Here, carry this," Angel demanded, shoving a handful of bags into Connor's chest.

"Ow!" Connor said. "Watch it."

"Look, buddy, do you want to go see a movie?" Angel leaned down and asked Spike as they came upon the bright flashing lights of the IMAX. "I bet they have lots of 3-D!"

"A movie will take hours, Dad," Connor pointed out rationally. "Are you sure that's really wise?"

"Why? You got somewhere else to be?" Angel asked sharply.

"Well … I might," Connor answered defensively.

"You're normally not even out of bed by now," Angel argued.

"I wanna go over there!" Spike exclaimed, pointing down some corridor that was not the movies.

Connor sighed in relief.

"Okay," Angel agreed, taking Spike's hand and letting him lead the way.

Connor looked with dismay at the store he was being dragged toward now. A clothing store. Not even just that. A kids' clothing store. Spike wanted to look at clothes. Of course he did. What six year old didn't want to go clothes shopping? Oh wait, that's right—no six year old wanted to go clothes shopping. Not one in his or her right mind, anyway.

"I don't know, pal, you have a lot of clothes already," Angel said sensibly.

Thank goodness.

"Aww," Spike said. "Please can't we just look?"

"Well, all right," Angel caved immediately.

Connor parked himself on a bench at the front of the store and closed his eyes. He was not having fun. He wasn't freaking out, but he was not having fun.

"Those two yours?" a man eventually asked as he sat down beside him, nodding toward Spike and Angel.

"Oh. Yeah," Connor answered. "Sort of."

"He's very cute," the man gushed. "You're very lucky."

"Yeah," Connor replied slowly.

"There's mine over there," the man continued, nodding toward a man and a little girl. "Just foster for now, though. Been together ten years; been trying to adopt for seven. But you know how that goes in this country."

"Oh," Connor answered. "Yeah. Um … Excuse me."

He hoped he got his face turned away before all the blood rushed to it. He walked quickly up to Angel and Spike and whispered urgently in Angel's ear.

"We need to get out of here."

"Why?" Angel asked, reaching down to help Spike tie a shoe he was trying on.

"Because!" Connor answered.

"'Because' isn't a good enough reason," Spike informed him, not even looking up.

"You shut up," Connor replied, and Angel gave him a rather warning look.

"Don't talk like that," he scolded gently. "It isn't nice."

"I want to leave this store. Please," Connor said. "They think we're a couple! And that Spike is our kid!"

Angel snorted and helped Spike to tie his other shoe.

"So?"

"So?" Connor repeated incredulously.

"So, let them think that, then," Angel replied easily. "What's it to us?"

"Please just hurry up," Connor practically begged. "I'm gonna go sit in the main lobby, okay?"

He glanced around, just certain that he was going to see an aunt or an uncle or worse still, his parents.

"No," Angel answered. "You're staying with us. No running off, remember?"

"It's not running off if I tell you where I'm going," Connor pointed out.

"I said no," Angel repeated firmly. "We'll be done in a minute. Just sit tight."

Connor folded his arms across his chest and stalked off down the next aisle. He stared blindly at some strategically placed Yu-Gi-Oh cards until he heard Angel at the checkout counter.

"Finally," he said in a huff as they left the store. "What'd you buy, anyway?"

"Just a couple things," Angel answered, handing him even more bags to carry.

"Ready to go home?" Connor asked.

"Can we see a movie now, Angel?" Spike asked sweetly.

"Sure, pal," Angel answered indulgently. "What would you like to see?"

"I don't care," Spike answered, and then added, "Something with violence and gore!"

"I'm sure we can find one like that," Angel replied, heading back toward the theater.

"We can't go see a movie," Connor said, holding up his two armloads of bags and shaking them. "What about all this crap? It'll just be in the way."

Angel shrugged.

"We'll throw it in a seat beside us."

"It won't all fit in a seat," Connor argued.

"Then we'll throw it in two seats," Angel countered. "Stop bitching and come on."

Connor's mouth fell open again, and he was so shocked by the words that he did indeed stop bitching and followed behind them, feeling rather disgruntled. He wondered if he suddenly stopped and refused to move if they would even notice.

Spike and Angel talked all through the movie, much to the dismay of Connor and everyone else around them. Connor would have to remember to have a talk with them about movie theater etiquette. For now, though, he contented himself to slide down in his seat and pretend he didn't know them.

After the movie, Angel stretched and declared that it was time to go home.

"But we have to get ice cream!" Spike reminded them. "You said, Angel!"

"I did?" Angel asked, feigning ignorance. "I don't remember saying anything about ice cream. Connor, did I say anything about ice cream?"

"Not that I recall," Connor answered, playing along.

"You did, though!" Spike said, nearing panic as they neared the exit. "You said I could have some! I've been waiting all day! I was even good!"

"You were only good so that you could have ice cream?" Angel asked, his brows knitting together as if he truly hadn't considered that possibility.

"Well," Spike answered slowly. "I ... You said, though!"

"All right, buddy. I was just kidding," Angel said, patting him on top of the head. "We'll go have ice cream. Connor... Where can we get ice cream in this place?"

"Um... Hang on," Connor said, consulting one of the giant illuminated maps in the middle of the corridor. "Looks like there's a Maggie Moo's up that way."

"All right!" Spike said as if he'd finally won some great and tiresome argument.

The three of them stood patiently in line. Angel held Spike in his arms so he could see the different flavors while they waited. Connor held the shopping bags. Finally, when they reached the counter, Spike ordered his own two scoops of Superman in a waffle cone.

"Great," Angel said, and glanced over his shoulder at Connor. "What do you want, pal?"

"Oh," Connor said, taken aback for some reason. "I uh... I like chocolate. But you don't have to get me anything."

Angel rolled his eyes and ordered two chocolate cones. Connor wondered how Angel expected him to carry an ice cream cone when he was loaded down like a pack mule, but Angel silently reached out and took some of the bags from him and gave him a smile.

"Thanks, Dad," Connor said once they'd moved away from the counter.

"I'm beat," Angel admitted. "You're right—this is hard work. Let's go home."

Angel took a tentative bite of his ice cream as they walked off. He looked momentarily pleased, but he didn't comment. He put his arm around Connor as they neared the toy store through which they'd entered, and Connor didn't even worry that people might think they were a couple. What was it to him, after all?

Spike raised his ice cream to his lips and took an absurdly large bite.

"Don't do that," Connor admonished. "You'll get brain freeze."

"Nuh uh," he said, skipping ahead of them.

Spike took another bite, smaller this time, and frowned.

"What's the matter?" Angel asked.

Spike shook his head, kept walking, and gave the ice cream a lick. He stopped just short of the toy store's entrance and stared at it, disappointed.

"What is it?" Connor asked, suddenly worried that they might have a problem. "Don't you like it?"

Spike shook his head. His whole face flushed an angry red before he turned around and threw the ice cream cone down the corridor, barely missing a lady in a hideous pink jumpsuit who gave first Spike and then his "parents" a dirty look before stepping over the melting mess in disdain.

"Spike!" Angel hissed, forgetting in his annoyance his vow to use the little boy's given name. "You get over there right now and pick that up!"

"Oh, God," Connor groaned.

"No," Spike said, pouting and slipping his hand into Connor's as if he could provide him some sort of protection.

"Come on," Connor said quietly, pulling Spike beside him. "We'll pick it up together, okay?"

Spike allowed Connor to drag him in that direction, but he didn't make any attempt to help while Connor picked up what he could of the sticky mess and deposited it into the nearest trash can. Connor glanced over his shoulder. Angel looked positively thunderous, so he decided he'd better do a good job of cleaning it up. He took the tiny napkin that had been wrapped around his own cone and dabbed at the floor until the paper was soaked through. He trashed that as well and wiped his hand across the leg of his jeans.

"Sorry," he mumbled to the passersby as he got to his feet. "Be careful. Sorry."

Angel jerked his head toward the toy store, and the three of them made their way silently through toward the alley entrance at the back. Angel dropped down into the sewer tunnel first and Connor tossed him some bags. Connor then sent down Spike, who didn't much look like he wanted to go. As soon as the three of them were safely on the sewer floor, Angel swatted Spike once firmly on the bottom. Spike looked up at him with wide, sad eyes, but didn't otherwise comment.

"Here, Dad, carry these," Connor said, handing Angel his bags. "And I'll carry this."

Connor scooped Spike up into his arms. He didn't protest at all. In fact, he wrapped his legs around Connor's waist and buried his face in the crook of his neck. Connor rubbed his back a little, and as soon as Angel wasn't looking, gave his bottom a quick rub, too.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I put up Chapter 5 today as well, so don't miss it. _

* * *

Angel didn't get them lost on the way home. Instead, he got them there in record time and ordered Spike to go lie down on his bed until he came up to see him.

"Dad," Connor said gently. "You're not gonna ... you know ... are you?"

"Spank him?" Angel asked irritably, dumping bags haphazardly into the floor and onto the couch in the lobby. "You better believe I'm gonna spank him!"

"Oh, Dad, don't," Connor said, running his hands through his hair. "Just give him a break this time."

"So he should just be allowed to have a tantrum in the middle of a store in front of hundreds of onlookers, then?" Angel asked.

"It wasn't that bad," Connor said, trying to placate his father. "Really, it wasn't. He didn't even yell and scream. I did so much worse when I was little..."

"Did you now?" Angel asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I did," Connor admitted sheepishly. "Both for real and pretend."

"Then you should have had your butt busted, too," Angel said, daring Connor to challenge him on the point. "Shouldn't you?"

"Dad!" Connor said, blushing. "Just cut him some slack. I don't think he feels good."

"Gonna feel worse when I get through with him," Angel said ominously, his foot on the bottom stair.

"Dad, just ... just talk to him about it first, okay?" Connor implored. "He's already afraid of you."

Angel nodded grudgingly. He knew Connor was right. Spike was afraid of him, and he didn't want to make that problem worse. But he still didn't really have any plans of doing any talking until he'd dealt with that egregious display of bad behavior at the mall.

He didn't have to bother knocking on Spike's door, because Spike hadn't bothered to close it. He stood beside Spike's bed and folded his arms across his chest as he surveyed the sight in front of him. Spike lay face down right in the middle of his bed and refused to look up even though he'd certainly heard Angel enter. While Angel's first urge was to pull those little pants down and paint that little bottom pink, he found that he didn't quite have it in him after all.

"Hey, pal," he said instead, shifting an unresponsive Spike over so he could sit beside him. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

Spike simply turned his face away and stared at the wall.

"Hey," Angel admonished, patting him lightly on the leg. "Don't be like that. Come on. Tell me what's wrong."

Spike shook his head no, which Angel took as an encouraging sign.

"I could have just gone back and gotten you a different flavor, you know," he informed him. "All you had to do was ask. I bet Connor would have even traded you for his chocolate."

"It's not that," Spike interrupted softly.

"It isn't? Why don't you tell me what it is, then?" Angel prompted, pulling Spike up and arranging him in his lap.

"I-I'm a monster!" Spike finally declared, burying his face in Angel's shirt.

"What?" Angel asked, rubbing his shoulders briskly. "No, you're not."

"I am," Spike said sadly, sniffling and plainly on the verge of full-fledged tears.

"You're not a monster," Angel said. "You're a terribly behaved little boy, but you're not a monster."

"What do you know about it?" Spike asked, unimpressed. "You're a monster, too."

"What brought this on?" Angel asked, frowning. "Did someone say something to you while we were out?"

Spike shook his head and wiped his tears right on Angel's lapel. Angel didn't even care.

"What, then?" he asked gently. "What makes you think you're a monster?"

"I … The ice cream," Spike offered.

"You're gonna have to give me a little more to go on," Angel said, stifling a laugh.

"I couldn't taste it," Spike clarified. "It didn't taste right."

"Well, I've heard Superman isn't very flavorful," Angel offered weakly. "Next time we'll get you a different kind, okay?"

"No!" Spike said hotly, pulling his face back to look Angel in the eye. "You know what I mean. You know, because you're like me. You can't taste it either, not like you're supposed to. It's just cold and a little sweet, but … but it's not right. It's not like it's supposed to be. I can't taste it because I'm a monster! You know it's true, because you're a monster, too!"

Angel hugged the now sobbing Spike to his chest, momentarily at a loss for words. He did know what Spike meant. He knew exactly. He'd been given the opportunity to taste ice cream—and all kinds of other wonderful things, too—with a human tongue not too long ago. And while he could still distinguish flavors now, nothing ever tasted as good as it smelled—nothing but blood.

"You like to eat things," Angel finally said, simply to have something to say.

"I pretend," Spike confessed.

"You pretend?" Angel asked, not quite sure he understood.

"I pretend," Spike repeated, nodding and wiping at his eyes and nose. "I pretend to like those things. I know they all really taste the same. Bland. 'Cept for those onion things."

"Yeah, those are good," Angel agreed, even though he didn't think he'd ever tried one.

"Pretending should be easier now," Spike said, frowning. "Now that I'm … like this. Don't you think?"

"Well, I mean, I guess so," Angel said awkwardly. "Maybe you just … your expectations were too high, that's all. You wanted ice cream for days, and when you finally got it, you found out it wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

"Only 'cuz I'm a monster," Spike insisted, letting the tears fall down his cheeks again.

"You're not a monster, Spike," Angel said sternly. "Or maybe at one time you were, but you're not anymore. You've done so many good things for the world since then. So stop saying that."

"Not Spike," Spike said, trying to halt his tears by pressing the cuff of Angel's shirt sleeve to his eyes.

"What?" Angel asked.

"Not Spike," he repeated. "Remember? You said that was just a name I gave myself. That's the name I gave the monster."

"That's right, William, I did say that," Angel acknowledged.

"Angel's just a name you made up, too," Spike pointed out. "Angel's the name of your monster."

"No," Angel said quickly. "No, not exactly."

"Is too," Spike insisted. "Your real name is Liam. You got the last bit of my name."

"Well, you're not calling me Liam," Angel said. "I don't exactly want to be him again, either."

"Then I should get to call you a new name," Spike said, the idea calming him down significantly.

Angel frowned.

"Like what?" he asked suspiciously.

Spike continued to sit on Angel's knee, lost in thought and still using Angel's shirt as a handkerchief. After a moment, he gave his grandsire a rather shy look, but didn't say anything.

"Well?" Angel prompted. "Did you come up with one?"

Spike nodded.

"Let's hear it, then," Angel said brightly.

"Can … Can I whisper it to you?" Spike asked nervously.

"Why?" Angel asked. "Is it obscene? If it's obscene, young man, you are going to be in serious trouble."

"It's not," Spike said, though he grinned mischievously. He'd thought up a few obscene ones, too.

"All right," Angel agreed, turning his head to the side so that Spike could whisper to him.

After he'd run the name by Angel, Spike twisted off of his lap and chewed on his bottom lip while he regarded him apprehensively, waiting to see what he thought of it.

"That's..." Angel had to stop and clear his throat. "That's... Yeah, champ, you can call me that sometimes, if you really want to."

Spike flushed with pleasure, happy that Angel seemed to like his choice, but he wasn't really ready to use the new moniker yet.

"Angel?" he asked softly.

"Yeah?"

"I had fun today. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Are you gonna smack me now?"

Angel started to laugh, but he caught himself and schooled his face into a more appropriate scowl.

"I should, don't you think?" he asked. "After the way you behaved?"

"Probably," Spike agreed easily. "But Connor's gonna be mad at you if you do."

"You heard all that, huh?" Angel asked, and Spike nodded. "Well, do you think it'd be fair to Connor if I didn't spank you?"

"What do you mean?" Spike asked nervously.

"Connor would have gotten a very sore bottom if he'd acted like you acted today," Angel said sternly.

"Yeah, but..." Spike started, and then found he couldn't figure out how to finish the sentence.

"Yes?" Angel asked, truly hoping that Spike would come up with a plausible reason why he should escape punishment.

"Nothin'," he finally answered, staring red-faced at the floor.

"I think the traditional way of doing this is one smack for every year of your age," Angel said.

"I can't take a hundred!" Spike protested, backing away from the bed.

Angel snorted.

"A hundred?" he asked with a wry smile. "You passed a hundred over thirty years ago. Who are you trying to kid?"

"No, Angel, please," Spike said, and he looked so genuinely distressed that Angel decided he'd better put him out of his misery.

"Come here, Will," he said gently. "You were very naughty today when you threw that ice cream cone, and you've got five smacks coming."

"Five?" Spike asked, surprised, and then he turned indignant. "But Connor says I'm at least six!"

"Oh, does he?" Angel asked, raising his eyebrows. "Very well, then. You've got at least six smacks coming."

"Oh," Spike said quietly, realizing his mistake.

Angel considered putting Spike over his knee, but he thought that would just scare him more than necessary. He didn't need to be scared—not today, anyway. He turned him to the side and gently swatted him six times on the seat of his pants. Spike turned back and gave him a rather incredulous look, but he didn't dare question his good fortune.

"No more throwing things,"Angel said sternly. "Especially food. Understood?"

"Yeah."

"Because I do still remember how to spank properly," Angel informed him. "No matter how cute you are."

"Understood," Spike said seriously.

"Good," Angel said, relieved that this was all over with for now. He knew Spike probably hadn't quite got past the monster thing, but at least he was considerably distracted from it. That was really all he ever could be. "Now let's go back downstairs so we can sort through the stuff we bought you, and also so Uncle Connor can see that I didn't kill you."

"He's really nice, isn't he?" Spike asked, the affection clear in his tone. "Connor?"

"Yeah," Angel agreed with the same affection. "He is."


	7. Chapter 7

"I can't believe you bought him that," Connor observed with a laugh, shaking his head. "I really can't."

"What?" Angel asked. "He looks good in it."

"That's just... I didn't even know they made them that small."

"Well, now you know," Angel answered.

"Where's he even gonna wear that?" Connor asked. "Are you gonna take him on patrol? I think I should monitor your purchases from now on..."

"Do I really look good in it?" Spike asked eagerly, doing a twirl so that his little leather—well, it was pleather, but Angel wasn't going to tell him that—duster billowed majestically behind him. "Oh, I wish I could see! Sodding mirrors!"

"Here," Connor said, whipping out his cell phone and snapping a picture.

"Wow!" Spike exclaimed, looking at him like he was a genius. He glanced at the pic. "I do look good!"

"Let's take a real picture," Angel suggested, heading to his office for the camera. "Those newfangled phones take lousy little pictures."

"It's got a 5 mega-pixel camera!" Connor protested, grinning. "Your camera's only like 3."

"Well, nevertheless," Angel said, waiting for Spike to be still so he could take the photo. "Say cheese."

"No," Spike said, suddenly embarrassed. "Just take it already."

"Not until you say cheese," Angel said.

"No," Spike repeated. "I don't want to."

"Oh, fine," Angel relented, knowing when to pick his battles. "Just stand there and look mean, then."

That, Spike could do.

After Angel had taken a satisfactory photo, which took him four tries—the first time he'd left the lens cover on, and Connor had reached out and removed it without comment—Spike decided he didn't want to wear his jacket anymore right then, and wadded it up and stuck it back into a bag.

"Oh, no," Angel admonished. "That's not at all the way we're going to do things."

"What?" Spike asked innocently.

"We're going to take all your new things upstairs and hang them up properly," Angel informed him.

"Aww," Spike whined. "Do we gotta?"

"Yes, we 'gotta,'" Angel answered with amusement. "I'll help you."

"You'll have to help him," Connor pointed out. "I don't think he can reach that high."

"Hmm," Angel murmured, studying Spike. "I think you're right."

"But I wanted to play with my toys now!" Spike complained.

"Tough," Connor and Angel replied together.

"I knew you'd grow up to be just like him," Spike muttered, giving them both a hateful glare.

"You take that back!" Connor said, and then looked apologetically at his father. "I … I mean. Um..."

"It's okay," Angel said, tousling his hair fondly. "Nobody wants to grow up to be just like their old man. Well, not once they hit a certain age, anyway."

"Look at this!" Spike shouted happily, pulling a little stuffed elephant out of one of the toy bags and hugging it lovingly to his chest.

"Yeah, buddy, that's great," Connor said enthusiastically. "It's gonna be even greater upstairs in your room."

"Aww."

"Well, maybe you could play for a little while," Angel said. "Connor and I will put away your clothes for you."

Connor gave his dad a sardonic grin and rolled his eyes.

"Bring a few toys and come upstairs, though, so we can keep an eye on you," Angel instructed, gathering bags and dividing them between himself and Connor.

"Okay!" Spike said happily, picking up as many things as he could carry and dashing up the stairs.

"No running in the house!" Connor called after him, and noticed that Angel gave him a look, too.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"'No running in the house?'" Angel asked, smirking.

"What?" Connor repeated, kind of embarrassed. "Someone has to be the voice of reason around here. He's certainly got you wrapped around his finger."

"Oh, hush," Angel said dismissively, heading up the staircase.

"You know I'm right."

* * *

"Thank you for coming with us to the mall," Angel said quietly as he slid over some hangers to make room for a little blue dress shirt. "I know you didn't want to, and I really appreciate that you did it anyway."

"No problem," Connor answered, and found that he meant it. He held a little tie out toward Angel. "What, are we taking him to church now or something?"

"Of course not," Angel said, snatching the tie away and putting it in its designated spot in the closet. "It looked cute on him, that's all."

"What wouldn't look cute on him?" Connor asked honestly.

"Yeah," Angel agreed.

"He knows he's cute, though," Connor said. "You do realize how dangerous that is, right?"

"Why?" Angel asked, reaching back for Connor to hand him something else for the closet. "You saying he's gonna be a handful?"

"If you let him," Connor said, nodding.

Spike zoomed down the hall just then at vampire speed, pulling the stuffed elephant inside some toy on wheels behind him and making the accompanying traffic noises.

"He's been good so far," Angel protested. "Well, except for that ice cream thing. And the pillow thing. And the bloody cereal thing... But that was an accident."

"Yeah, but it's not even been a week," Connor pointed out. "And he could be this way for several weeks, or even months, remember?"

"It'll be fine," Angel said.

"I think we should make some rules," Connor suggested, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

"Rules?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, you know, rules," Connor said. "Bedtimes and stuff."

"I'm not sure that's necessary," Angel said, wrinkling his nose. "I mean, he's Spike. He's been around a long time. He knows what he can and cannot do."

"You sure about that?" Connor asked skeptically, passing over a little pair of corduroy pants. "He may _know_ something is wrong, but that might not stop him from _doing_ it. Case in point: throwing ice cream down the aisle at innocent bystanders."

Spike zoomed down the hall in the opposite direction.

"Aren't you gonna yell at him not to run in the house?" Angel asked wryly.

"Fine, you just scoff about it now, mister," Connor answered, smiling. "We'll see who's right."

"You must have had a bunch of rules when you were little, the way you keep harping on about this," Angel commented lightly.

"No, not really," Connor said. "Mostly we just tried to stay alive, Holtz and me."

Connor bristled and glanced apprehensively at his dad. He hadn't really meant to bring up Holtz, and he realized too late that Angel had probably been referring to his life with the Reilly family. But it was too late to backpedal now.

Angel nodded but didn't say anything for a moment, and Connor felt the tension building in the room.

"Dad, I didn't mean..." he started, but Angel shook his head.

"It's all right, Connor," he interrupted. "You can tell me anything. You know that. I'd love to hear about your life with him, anything that you want to tell me."

"Like what?" Connor asked uncomfortably.

"Well, like, how did he punish you?" Angel asked, taking Connor by surprise.

"Oh, um, it's … he just ..." Connor stammered.

Connor didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what Angel wanted to hear. Did Angel want him to say that Holtz had been a terrible foster father, that he had beaten him daily and made him fast and pray until he could hardly stand because he was so weak with hunger and self-loathing? Or did he want to hear that Holtz had treated him with kindness and given in to his every whim? The truth lay somewhere in the middle, but Connor must have hesitated too long while he tried to suss it all out, because Angel spoke again.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," he said softly. "I was just wondering."

Truthfully, Angel often worried that maybe Holtz had been a better father for Connor than he himself could have been. Holtz was a harsh man, he knew, but he'd managed to keep Connor alive in the worst hell dimension imaginable for sixteen or so years, when Angel couldn't even manage to keep him safe in Los Angeles for a full year.

"It's okay," Connor answered. "It's just … There wasn't like here, you know? It was just us, and there was pretty much no room for misbehavior, and there was also really no reason _to _misbehave. It's not like I had friends to hang out with, or girls to sneak out to see."

"I'm so sorry," Angel said sadly.

"No, Dad, don't be," Connor said, trying and rather failing to sound cheerful. "What's done is done, right? I survived, and I'm here with you now, and everything's okay."

"I wish I could have known you then," Angel said wistfully as he shoved Spike's second new pair of shoes into the bottom of the closet. "I bet you were such a good little boy."

"No, not always," Connor admitted. "Like I said, I had my share of tantrums. And as for your question, I mean, I know I told you before that he didn't … he didn't spank me... And we didn't have time-outs or groundings, because I mean … it was Holtz and it was Quor-toth. But I didn't just get away with stuff, either. If I did something dangerous, he'd tell me off. Or if I wasn't listening to him, sometimes I'd get my face slapped."

"He slapped your face?" Angel asked with alarm, whirling around to face his son.

Connor blushed furiously as Angel looked him over as if to search for lasting damage that Holtz might have inflicted.

"No big deal," he muttered, turning toward the bed and pulling things from bags at random. "And not too often. Just to like, get my attention. And believe me, it did."

"You shouldn't have let him do that," Angel declared, and Connor laughed incredulously.

"Yeah, right, Dad! Like I shouldn't have let you hit me with your belt? Or pop me with that god-awful wooden spatula you used to be so fond of?"

It was Angel's turn to blush. He didn't regret using corporal punishment on his son. He believed in its effectiveness, definitely, but he knew there were times when he'd been too hard on Connor, and it was that inconsistency that he regretted. There were times that he'd spanked him when Connor hadn't deserved punishment at all, not really. And then there was the time that Angel regretted most, kicking his boy out of his house and life instead of dealing with the situation head-on.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"No, Dad," Connor protested. "I'm not complaining, I'm honestly not. I'm just saying—he was my father then, and he did what he thought was best. And when I came here, I know you did the same. And I don't hold any grudges toward either of you."

"You are a fine young man," Angel said fondly.

"Yeah, well," Connor said. "I come from good stock."

"Who wants to see me do a cartwheel?" Spike suddenly interrupted from the doorway. "Come watch!"

"Okay," Connor agreed, more than happy to get away from his current conversation. "Bet you can't do cartwheels all the way down to the other end of the hall and back, though."

"Can too!" Spike asserted immediately. "Bet you five bucks!"

"You're on," Connor said, knowing from Spike's energy level that he was about to be five dollars poorer.

"Hey!" Angel chided. "No gambling."

Connor rolled his eyes and motioned for Angel to join him in Spike's "audience."

"Okay, are you watching?" Spike asked.

"Yes," they answered.

"Are you sure?" Spike asked skeptically.

"Yes!" they repeated.

"Okay, here goes!"

After a couple false starts, Spike did cartwheels all the way to the last door at the end of the hall, which was no small feat as the hall was quite long. He paused a moment to get his bearings and decided he would do back flips on the return trip, but he stumbled halfway through, lost his footing, and fell in a heap to the floor.

"Oh no," Connor said, rushing down to help him up.

"Ow," Spike said, frowning hard at his ankle and trying not to cry.

"Did you hurt yourself, pal?" Angel asked, kneeling down to check him over. "Let me see."

"Ow," Spike repeated, pouting mournfully.

Angel gently lifted the leg of Spike's jeans to see his ankle, but Spike pulled away.

"Bloody hell!" he yelled suddenly. "It hurts!"

Connor laughed when he heard the mild expletive phrase coming from the mouth of such a sweet and innocent looking little kid. He knew it was the wrong reaction for a number of reasons, but he couldn't help himself.

"Don't make fun of me!" Spike shouted with hostility as he began to cry. "It's not funny!"

"Oh, no, I know," Connor said immediately, trying to give the little guy a hug but being swiftly denied. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm sorry."

"Calm down, champ," Angel coaxed, picking Spike up under his arms despite his protests. "Let's have a look."

Angel set him down on his bed and gently examined the ankle while Spike sat as still as he could and put on a brave face.

"It's not broken," Angel announced. "Just twisted a little. You'll be fine in a few hours."

"Hours!" Spike lamented. "That's forever! It hurts now!"

"I'll get him some ice," Connor offered, already out the door.

"You'll be all right," Angel said soothingly, tapping Spike's pouting lower lip with his finger. "Don't you worry."

"It hurts, Papa," Spike said sadly.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," Angel said, wiping his tears away. "Connor will be back in a sec."

"I'm glad he's really fast," Spike said, already rather distracted.

"Me too," Angel agreed.

"He's not as fast as us, though," Spike added quickly. "I'm real fast! I can run from the top floor of the hotel to the basement in six seconds!"

Angel laughed.

"Six seconds, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll show you!" Spike offered.

"It's gonna have to wait a few days, I'm afraid," Angel said, examining the ankle again. "That's gonna be tender for awhile."

"Oww, it hurts!" Spike said once his attention had been drawn back to it.

"Here, got the ice," Connor said breathlessly as he handed over his makeshift ice pack. "You know, we really should invest in a first-aid kit around here."

"It's cold!" Spike shouted angrily as soon as Angel had applied the ice pack to the affected area. "It's cold! I hate it! Take it off!"

"You'll get used to it in a minute," Angel said gently. "Just settle down."

"I hate it!" Spike repeated tearfully, trying to pull his leg away but finding the action too painful. "Please take it off, Papa. I hate it!"

Connor let the short, disbelieving laugh escape his mouth before he'd even known it was coming. Angel gave him a pleading look that implored him to wait until later to discuss the issue, and as Connor found he was having a little trouble breathing all of a sudden, that suited him just fine.


	8. Chapter 8

Spike's ankle didn't hurt at all after an hour or so, not really. It still felt a little sore if he turned it a certain way, but after he'd informed Angel of that fact and been told shortly, "Don't turn it that way, then," he kept his woes to himself.

Connor had gone to bed early—really early, as the sun had just gone down—and Spike thought he had seemed upset. He couldn't quite puzzle out why, but he thought maybe he'd gotten in trouble with Angel for egging him on in his pursuit to do the world's longest set of cartwheels. Well, maybe not the _whole_ world's longest, but certainly the Hyperion's longest ever! Anyway, Connor must have been mad about something, because he didn't even say goodnight.

Spike glanced warily at Angel, who was sitting in his chair reading a book. Angel had told him that they had to play quietly in Angel's room since Connor was sleeping, but then once they'd got there, Angel hadn't really wanted to play at all. He'd just stalked over to his favorite chair and opened that old book and started reading. He hadn't even opened it to the first page to do it—Spike knew, because he'd been watching. He had opened it straight to the middle and glared at it, and he sure seemed to be taking a long time to read each page.

"What?" Angel suddenly asked, making Spike jump. He hadn't even looked up from his book.

"Nothin'," Spike answered quickly, turning his attention back to the floor and the various toys that Angel had let him bring with him.

"You were staring at me," Angel said, softening his tone a little.

"I didn't mean to," Spike answered quietly, now unwilling to even make eye contact at all.

"Will," Angel said, his voice strained, "are you afraid of me?"

"No," Spike said quickly, closely scrutinizing a package of crayons and pulling out his favorite colors for later use.

Was he afraid of Angel? Yeah, a little bit, but he was conflicted. Sure, Angel had been pretty nice since Spike had shown up all shrunk and stuff, but Angelus was a trickster and sometimes he lured people in with false kindness. Spike knew this was Angel, not Angelus, but he didn't think the two were as separate as Angel and everyone else liked to believe. Normally, he didn't even think about such things, but normally, he was big and strong and could defend himself.

"Yes, you are," Angel said knowingly. "You don't have to lie about it."

"I didn't mean to," Spike replied nervously.

"Tell me why you're so afraid of me," Angel pressed, leaning forward in his chair a little.

Spike shook his head.

"You don't have to be, you know," Angel added. "I would never hurt you."

"You've hurt me before," Spike replied automatically, and then looked horrified that he'd spoken so boldly. He put his pack of crayons down and glanced toward the door.

"No, no, no," Angel chided, knowing fight or flight when he saw it. "You don't have to run from me. I just want to talk. What do you mean when you say that? That I've hurt you before?"

Spike thought about it a moment. He didn't really want to talk about it, but Angel expected an answer, and Angel had ways of getting answers from people who didn't want to talk.

"When we were different," he finally offered.

"You mean when we were evil?" Angel asked bluntly, and Spike nodded.

"Yeah, well, you hurt me plenty then, too," Angel said, feeling childish about it, but oh well. "Remember?"

"Yeah, but I was just new, and you … you held my hand out in the sunlight, when I hadn't done anything wrong!" Spike blurted out, his sense of injustice prickling.

"Yeah," Angel said, wincing as he remembered. "I did do that. But I wouldn't do that again. You know that, right?"

Spike shrugged noncommittally.

"You think I would do it again?" Angel asked gently.

"You said you would," Spike muttered.

"I did?" Angel asked, confused.

"When I left here," Spike reminded him. "When we got in that big fight. You said you were going to toss me out on my ass and hope I landed in the sun."

"Oh," Angel commented. "Yeah. That. Well, I didn't mean that. And don't say 'ass.' It isn't nice."

"You say it," Spike pointed out.

"I'm a grown-up."

"So am I. Usually," Spike said bitterly.

"You will be again," Angel said consolingly. "And then you can say 'ass' all you want, okay?"

Spike giggled a little but tried to get it under control.

"You wanna come sit with me?" Angel offered, patting his legs.

Spike bit down nervously on his lower lip while he considered the offer. He _did_ want to. He'd wanted to ever since Angel had opened that book, but he wouldn't have dared to ask. But maybe it was okay if Angel wanted him to... Maybe Angel would even read some of his book to him.

He took a few hesitant steps toward the chair before flinging himself straight into Angel's lap and snuggling into his side.

"I'm glad you came back, and I would never hurt you," Angel murmured to him once he was there, and gave him a kiss on top of the head. "And I would never, ever throw you out into the sun. Okay?"

"Okay," Spike agreed, tracing his finger along the seam in Angel's pants.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?" Angel offered.

"Would you steal my girlfriend?" Spike asked seriously, and Angel had to stifle a laugh.

"No, I would not," he finally got out.

"Are you sure?" Spike asked. "'Cuz you used to like to do that a lot, and you were real mean about it, too!"

"I promise," Angel answered solemnly.

"What if it was Buffy?" Spike asked sincerely. Angel didn't want to laugh that time.

"Well … We'll talk about that when you're big again, okay?" he said.

"She's really pretty," Spike said with a longing sigh.

"Yeah, she is," Angel agreed. "Anything else?"

"Did you give Connor a smacking?" he asked tentatively.

"No," Angel answered. "He's too big for that. Why?"

"He seems sad is all," Spike replied. "I thought maybe he got in trouble because I hurt my ankle."

"No," Angel reassured him. "The only person who got in trouble for that was you, when you hurt it."

"Good. I don't want him to be in trouble."

"You let me worry about Connor," Angel said, ruffling Spike's hair.

"What is your book about?" Spike asked.

"Nothing interesting," Angel answered.

"Does it got a dragon in it?" Spike asked hopefully.

"Uh … Yeah," Angel replied, deciding he'd just make up a story. "Yeah, it does have a dragon. You wanna hear some of it?"

"Yeah!" Spike replied eagerly.

Angel picked up his copy of _Moby Dick_, turned to a random page, and began with the classic line, "Once upon a time..." Fifteen minutes later, just as Prince Lorne and his merry band of misfits were riding the back of the giant dragon to rescue Princess Winifred from the evil Count Pylea, Spike's head drooped and he was out like a light.

Angel gathered him up and took him to his own room, where he tucked him in and kissed his forehead before leaving to check on his other precious little boy.

* * *

Connor buried his face in his pillow, feeling miserable, ashamed of himself, and absolutely ridiculous. Here he was, twenty-five years old and jealous of a little boy—a 130-year-old little boy with fangs, but a boy nonetheless. Spike was the current six-year-old, yet it was Connor himself who'd acted like a total brat and stomped off to his room without so much as a goodnight to his housemates. He wouldn't be surprised if Angel came up and tried to sort him out with an "attitude adjustment." Maybe he should. Maybe he needed one.

He couldn't help it. He really hated the names his father and his former best friend had for each other. _Papa _and _champ. _Angel was always calling Spike "champ." He'd never called him that, not once that he could ever remember. In fact, he'd given him a big speech about how much of a champion he was not, and even though they'd been working more or less side-by-side for the past three years, he'd never even hinted that Connor might be on the path to becoming a champion.

And Spike, well, he just shouldn't call Angel "Papa." It wasn't exactly "Dad," but it was too close for comfort. It wasn't right.

He didn't know how long he had wallowed in self-pity, but eventually there was a gentle knock at his door and Angel invited himself in.

"Hey," Connor greeted hoarsely, and then cleared his throat.

He wished he'd thought to lock the door. Who was he kidding, though? If Angel wanted in, he'd get in. He always did.

"Hey," Angel returned, standing there uncertainly.

"Have a seat," Connor offered, nodding at his desk chair.

"Thanks, pal," Angel said, seemingly somewhat relieved as he crossed the room. "Listen..."

"It's fine," Connor lied. "I'm okay now. I guess it just surprised me."

"I swear I didn't put him up to that," Angel said quickly. "He came up with it all on his own, and I … I guess I just couldn't tell him no."

"It's fine, Angel," Connor said tersely.

Angel stiffened. Connor almost always called him Dad when they were alone, not Angel. Sure, he called him Angel out in public, because it'd be more than a little weird for one twenty-something to be calling another twenty-something Dad, but here in the house...

"Is that all I am to you?" he asked sternly, trying not to get upset.

"What?" Connor asked rather timidly, knowing exactly what Angel meant.

"You're not going to start calling me Angel just because you're mad and want to get back at me somehow," he scolded. "That's not how things work. I'm still your dad. Don't forget that."

"Sorry," Connor offered weakly, though he wasn't sure if he was truly sorry or not.

Angel sat down on the side of his bed and ran a hand over his shoulders.

"You know I love you, right?" he asked uncomfortably after a moment.

"Yeah," Connor grunted.

"Don't shut me out, son," Angel said. "We've done enough of that for a lifetime. Let's talk about it."

"Look, Dad, I know I'm being a brat, okay?" Connor said hotly. "I just … I don't know. Just leave me alone for a little while, okay?"

"Okay, pal," Angel agreed, patting him on the shoulder as he got up. "Whenever you're ready to talk to me, I'll be waiting."

"Yeah."


	9. Chapter 9

_This chapter has quite a few bad words in it, so beware._

* * *

Connor got up early the next morning and went to work. He'd listened to the message on the machine, gathered the necessary weapons, and taken off without bothering to disturb his father or Spike.

Killing evil things felt good. It was a release he couldn't get any other way. It made him feel in control. It made him feel whole. The thank-you kiss the lady had given him for his services wasn't too bad, either.

Angel paced back and forth across the lobby floor. It wasn't like Connor to just take off, not anymore. He always at least left a note or sent him a text message. He'd been gone for two and a half hours without so much as a word. Angel went to the kitchen to distract himself with some breakfast.

When he finally heard the lobby door slam, it was all he could do not to run out there and immediately give his son a piece of his mind. Maybe he should threaten him with a good spanking. Hell, maybe he should actually _give_ him a good spanking. Connor was a grown man, sure, but he was still his little boy, and it wouldn't do for him to be acting out like this.

"Hello," Connor greeted coolly as he entered the kitchen, obviously trying to pretend he hadn't been startled to see Angel there.

"Hey, son," Angel returned, glancing at him over his mug and watching him like a hawk as he made his way to the fridge.

Connor slopped some orange juice into a glass and downed it in one long gulp. He put the glass in the sink and turned to leave.

"Huh uh," Angel said sharply, and he reflexively stopped in his tracks. He'd heard that tone enough from all three of his fathers to know what it meant.

"What?" he snapped, knowing exactly what.

"Where've you been?" Angel asked, trying to remain calm.

"Out."

"Out?" Angel repeated.

"Dad, I'm twenty-five years old. Am I not allowed to go out?"

Times like these, Connor wished he'd just kept his apartment. But Angel had made such a convincing argument at the time. He'd reasoned that it was silly for Connor to pay rent when they had plenty of rooms at the Hyperion. He'd promised that he would give him his privacy and that he wouldn't be on his case. He'd even said that he wouldn't ask any—well, too many—questions if he brought a girl home. Connor had in turn explained to Angel that he had no plans of letting any girls find out that he still lived with his dad, so it probably wouldn't be an issue. Angel had just shrugged.

"You can do whatever you want," Angel said curtly. "I'd just appreciate a note when you go out on a case. We are partners, remember?"

"Oh, right," Connor said, pulling the check the woman had written him out of his pocket and tossing it on the table. "Here."

"I asked you where you went," Angel reminded him. "I don't see that information here on the memo line."

"And I said I went out," Connor said irritably. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that I don't want you running out doing dangerous stuff without me knowing where you are."

"Everything we do is dangerous," Connor said dismissively. "And it's not like you could've come with. Sun's out, and someone has to babysit."

"I'm asking you one more time," Angel said, pushing his chair back from the table and losing patience, "and if I don't get a satisfactory answer..."

"What, you'll _spank_ me?" Connor asked derisively, looking his father up and down challengingly. "You can't do that. I'm not a little kid, Angel."

"Then stop acting like one," Angel said coolly. "Or we'll just see what I can and can't do."

"Just leave me alone!"

Connor turned to storm out the door, but Angel caught him hard by the upper arm. Reacting purely on instinct, Connor spun around and punched Angel right on the side of his jaw and watched in horror as his dad briefly changed face, fell backwards, knocked his head on the kitchen counter with a thud, and slumped to the floor.

"Shit!" Connor exclaimed. "Shit, shit, shit!"

He knelt down and patted Angel's face—the side he hadn't hit—but he was out cold.

"Shit," Connor hissed again. "Oh, Dad, I didn't mean to do that!"

Connor looked around almost in a blind panic. He had hit his father. He had decked him and knocked him the fuck out. Well, the counter had likely been the true source of the K.O., but that wouldn't have happened had he not socked him in the face to begin with. Oh God. Punching your father in the face when you were no longer a very confused adolescent who'd been raised in a hell dimension and misled your entire life had to be pretty high on the sin list.

He ran to the lobby and retrieved a throw pillow off one of the couches. He gently lifted Angel's head and inspected the damage before sliding the pillow underneath him. He had a pretty bad bump, but amazingly, there wasn't even a gash. That was good, because if Angel woke up to find that his hair was somehow irreparably damaged, there would surely be hell to pay.

"What's going on?" Spike asked sleepily, hanging just inside the door until he saw Angel laid out on the floor.

"Nothing," Connor answered quickly. "Go back to bed."

"What's wrong with Papa?" Spike asked with concern, running over and kneeling down beside Connor.

"Papa's fine," Connor answered. "He's just … napping."

"In the floor?" Spike asked skeptically.

"He's … um … very tired," Connor replied.

"You hit him," Spike observed evenly, and then looked up at Connor with a grin. "You bloody hit him and knocked him out, didn't you?"

"Not exactly," Connor answered uncomfortably.

"You did!" Spike exclaimed gleefully, truly impressed. "Wow! You must be so strong!"

"I guess," Connor said noncommittally.

Connor knew he was strong. Hardly a week went by that he didn't get into a scuffle with some demon or other. He knew he could pack a punch, but he hadn't hit Angel outright like that since before the big mind wipe. When they trained, it was with weapons—swords, staffs, whatever—and always with the rule of no face shots. Angel was gonna be so mad.

"Wake him up," Spike ordered.

"No, just let him rest," Connor said.

"Why?"

"Because," Connor answered honestly, "when Papa wakes up, Uncle Connor is in for an ass kicking of epic proportions."

"Don't say 'ass,'" Spike informed him. "It isn't nice."

"You get that from the nuns or from Angel?" Connor asked, allowing a hint of amusement to enter his voice despite the current dire circumstances.

"Both."

"Figures. You want something to eat?"

"Yeah! 98.6, please!" Spike said eagerly.

"I'll see what I can do."

Connor heated up some liquid breakfast for Spike, added a handful of miniature marshmallows, and brought it back.

"Wow, cool!" Spike said gratefully when he saw the sweet addition.

He sat back cross-legged on the floor and simply watched the unconscious Angel like it was the most amusing thing he'd ever seen.

"I'm not sure you wanna be that close when he wakes up," Connor cautioned.

"Why?" Spike asked. "I'm not the one who hit him."

"Fair point," Connor conceded, joining Spike in the floor and gathering him into his lap.

"Are you trying to use me as a shield?" Spike asked, though he leaned back affectionately into the embrace.

"You sure are a smart ass for such a little boy," Connor remarked, avoiding the question.

"I told you, don't—"

"Say 'ass,' I know," Connor interrupted.

"Why'd you hit him for, anyway?" Spike demanded.

"It was an accident," Connor said defensively.

"Lucky for you, he thinks you're too old to smack," Spike commented rather enviously.

"He does?" Connor asked, wondering why Angel had been discussing such private matters with Spike anyway.

"How come you were mad last night?" Spike said by way of reply.

"I wasn't," Connor denied.

"Were too."

"Was not."

"You didn't tell me goodnight," Spike said. "Were you mad at me?"

"No," Connor said slowly. "...I guess I was mad at myself more than anything."

"Why?"

"You ask too many questions," Connor replied.

"Papa's coming 'round," Spike observed with interest.

"Dad!" Connor exclaimed, roughly removing Spike from his lap and crawling quickly toward his father. "Dad, I'm so sorry! So, so sorry!"

Angel groaned in reply and laid his head back down on the pillow.

"God, I swear I didn't mean to do that," Connor continued. "Oh, please tell me you're all right."

Angel was silent for a few moments. Then, he opened his eyes and offered Connor a weak smile.

"I guess when you don't wanna talk, you _really_ don't wanna talk."

Connor shook his head and laughed nervously. He had expected Angel to come up swinging and possibly to beat him all new shades of black and blue. He hadn't expected joking. He _never_ expected joking from his dad.

"Are you all right?" Connor repeated.

"Yeah," Angel answered, trying to sit up.

Connor helped him to his feet and supported him with an arm beneath his shoulders.

"I think I'd like to lie down for just a bit, though," Angel said almost apologetically.

"Okay, I'll take you to your room," Connor said obligingly.

Before Angel could protest, Connor reached down and scooped his father's legs into his free arm and carried him up the stairs. Angel sighed dramatically but didn't say anything about it. Connor deposited him onto his bed and fluffed every pillow he could find to put around him.

"So sorry," he murmured again as he pulled the blankets up around Angel. "I'll take any punishment you wanna give me. So sorry."

Angel smiled. That punch had hurt, but he realized it had been reflexive, because Connor had looked as genuinely surprised by it as he had been. Connor was so flustered and contrite, and he could hear his son's heart trying to beat its way right out of his chest. He patted his boy on the hand and tried to catch his eye.

"Connor," he said, but Connor was already flitting off to find more things to make him comfortable. "Connor!"

"Yes, sir?" Connor asked nervously, and Angel rolled his eyes.

"Come here."

Connor stood by the edge of the bed just out of arm's reach. Angel wasn't sure if that was intentional or unconscious, but it kind of annoyed him either way.

"Connor," he chided, patting the bed to indicate he should come closer. "I'm not mad."

"Okay, well, I'll just go down and get you some blood," Connor replied, crossing the room and exiting despite Angel calling him back.

"Can I come in?" Spike asked from the doorway after Connor had gone.

Angel didn't know where the little one had been during this whole ordeal, but he hoped he hadn't seen too much of it, for more reasons than one. Firstly, young William might be worried about him or scared for Connor's safety—like Connor appeared to be. Secondly, when Spike returned to normal size and mentality, he'd never let him hear the end of it.

"Yeah, pal," Angel said. "Come in."

Spike ran over and jumped straight up into Angel's bed, which made his head swim a little, but he didn't scold him for it. Instead, he put a welcoming arm around the little boy, who snuggled up close to his side and rested his head on his chest.

"You all right?" Spike asked.

"Yeah, Will," Angel assured him. "I'm just fine. Just a little tired. Got up too early. Need a nap."

"Connor tried to tell me that lie, too," Spike said with a sardonic grin. "But we both know he knocked you out."

Angel snorted. Maybe young William wasn't as nice as he'd thought.

"Yeah, champ, he did," he finally admitted.

"He thinks you're gonna kick his ass for it," Spike informed him. "Don't worry, though. I told him not to say 'ass.'"

"Thank you," Angel said with a grin. "That was very good of you."

"Are you?" Spike asked.

"Am I what?"

"Gonna kick his … bum?"

"Nah," Angel answered.

"Here, Dad," Connor said as he entered the room, carrying an ice pack and a very full mug of blood very carefully so he didn't spill it.

"Thanks, champ," Angel replied easily, and Connor abruptly stopped in his tracks, causing some of the blood to slosh over the top of the mug despite how careful he'd been all the way there.

"What's wrong?" Angel asked with concern when he saw the look on Connor's face.

Angel hadn't meant anything by the nickname, Connor realized. He hadn't been withholding it from him out of some deep-seated, passive-aggressive malice—he just hadn't used it before.

And Spike, why shouldn't he have a Papa? He was going to be mortified once he was all grown up again, no doubt about it, but why shouldn't he get along with Angel now, while he could? Once Connor thought about it, it had been rather silly of him to not want to share his father with Spike, because Spike had been sharing Angel with him all this time. Spike had him first.

"God, Dad, I'm such a jerk," Connor answered sadly, finally willing his legs to move enough to get his father the food. "I'm just … such a jerk."

"You really are," Spike agreed. "You didn't bring me any!"

"You already had some," Connor laughed. "With marshmallows, no less."

"I didn't get any marshmallows," Angel commented lightly, looking down into his own mug.

"I'll get you some!" Connor offered.

"No!" Angel said quickly. "I was only kidding, Connor. Calm down."

"Can we watch a movie, Papa?" Spike asked, staring longingly at Angel's television.

"Yeah," Angel surprisingly answered, looking around for the remote.

Connor retrieved it off the dresser and brought it to Angel. When he handed it to him, Angel clasped his wrist and gently pulled him down onto the bed at the side not occupied by Spike.

"Scoot over," they both told the little boy, who gave a long-suffering sigh and reached for the remote before complying.

Connor settled down and lay back at Angel's side, and after a moment, he copied Spike's action and tentatively rested his head on his father's chest, just to see what it was like. Angel absently and yet affectionately ran his fingers through his boy's hair, and Connor decided he would stay right there just as long as Papa would let him.


	10. Chapter 10

Two movies and one "The Price is Right" rerun later, Angel silently extricated himself from between his two slumbering kids and carefully made his way downstairs. His head ached a little, but what really surprised him was that his jaw was still throbbing where Connor had punched him. His son had quite the left hook! Pride probably wasn't the appropriate emotion to be feeling in this situation, but he felt it nonetheless.

He heated up some more blood—being injured always made him hungry—and sat down at the kitchen table to pretend to read the paper while he really thought about what to do with Connor. He'd told Connor he wasn't mad, and he wasn't, but he knew his son. Connor would let the guilt eat him up for weeks over this if Angel didn't do something about it. Like father, like son.

Angel didn't intend to push the issue, though. If Connor seemed okay, then he was okay. But he needed to be ready with a suitable punishment in case his boy came looking for one. As much as he might want to, he knew Connor was right—he couldn't spank him. Connor had grown into a fine young man, and they truly were equal partners on the business side of things. It wouldn't do for him to upset the balance of that relationship.

He left the table and went to his office, where he noted with amusement that Spike had arranged several toys in some sort of caravan across the desk, and his little stuffed elephant now occupied Angel's chair. If there was some hidden insult in the display, Angel certainly didn't know what it might be. He removed the elephant, placed it with the rest of the toys, and sat.

Connor's speeding ticket stared him in the face, and he sighed. That was what, his boy's third one? He should probably opt for traffic school to keep it off his license and insurance, but he knew that Connor wouldn't. He'd shell out the $150, lament its loss for a couple days, and then do the same thing again a few months down the line.

"Dad?" Connor asked, rousing Angel from his thoughts.

"Yeah, pal?"

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Just looking at some stuff. Will still asleep?"

"Yeah. You uh … Your head okay?" Connor asked sheepishly.

"More or less," Angel answered.

"You know I didn't mean to do that, right?" Connor asked urgently. "It was an accident."

"I know," Angel said. "I shouldn't have grabbed you like I did. I should have known how you'd react."

Connor shuffled his feet uncomfortably, and Angel tried to hide his smile at the shy display.

"I … When I went out earlier, it was just vampires," Connor offered. "I mean, not that vampires aren't dangerous and scary..."

Angel raised a questioning eyebrow, but didn't comment.

Connor cleared his throat.

"But yeah, it was just a couple vamps hanging out in this lady's guest house. Apparently she accidentally invited them in, and then couldn't get them to leave."

"They didn't eat her?" Angel asked, intrigued.

"No. Couldn't get into the main house, apparently."

"Interesting."

"Yeah. So I went over and woke them up and took care of it."

"You woke them up first?" Angel asked.

"Well, yeah," Connor said defensively. "Fair fight, you know?"

Angel snorted.

"But that's where I went, since you asked," Connor continued. "And I want you to know that I'm sorry for how I was acting. I let some things upset me that shouldn't have, and I mean, you know how I get."

"You get that from your father," Angel said.

"Yeah," Connor agreed. "So anyway, I … I'm ready for … for what you were gonna do earlier."

Connor felt his face flush and knew it must be bright red. Angel hadn't spanked him in years, but despite his earlier protests to the contrary, he knew that his father could and would do it.

"All I wanted to do earlier was talk, Connor," Angel answered gently. "I shouldn't have grabbed you. I just wanted you to listen to me."

"Yeah, right, Dad," Connor scoffed. "You were on the verge of giving me a beat down. Don't lie."

"Well," Angel said, sighing uncomfortably. "Maybe the thought crossed my mind. But you're way too old for that, and you don't deserve it anyway."

"I knocked you out!" Connor protested, silently willing his mouth to shut up while he was ahead.

"I'm not upset about that," Angel assured him. "I was upset that you left on a case without telling me where you went. And if I'm not mistaken, you must have gone as far as to erase the message from the machine so I wouldn't know. Am I right?"

Connor fidgeted nervously. When Angel put it that way, he sounded even more like he needed a spanking.

"I did, yeah," he admitted, staring hard at the floor in front of him. "I'm sorry. I know you worry about me. I won't do that again."

"I'm glad to hear it," Angel said, standing and crossing the room toward his son. "Now give me your car keys."

"What?" Connor asked in bemused alarm.

"Give me your car keys," Angel repeated, holding his hand out for them. "A couple days without your ride might help you remember not to repeat that little stunt."

"But Dad!" Connor said shrilly. "I told you I wouldn't do it again!"

"Connor," Angel said warningly. "Hand them over, or you can go over my knee _and_ have your car taken away."

"You just said I was too old for that!" Connor protested.

"Doesn't mean I won't do it," Angel replied dryly. "Keys. Now."

"But how am I supposed to go anywhere?" Connor asked. "You're not … Am I grounded?"

"No," Angel answered, still holding his hand out for the keys. "You have legs."

Connor huffed angrily and blew a strand of hair out of his eyes before reaching into his pocket and reluctantly handing over the keys. Angel took them, dropped them into his own pocket, and then turned Connor to the side and gave him a single hard swat across the bottom.

"Hey!" he protested, pulling away. "You said!"

"That was before I got all this attitude," Angel answered with a smirk.

"Is that all he's getting for knockin' you out?" Spike asked from the doorway.

Connor was so embarrassed. Spike had seen him get spanked on more than one occasion, but this, with him in his current condition, seemed so much worse. He was a little kid, and Connor was a grown man, and who was the one in trouble?

"When can I have it back?" he mumbled, doing his best to ignore Spike staring at him.

"Couple days," Angel answered easily.

"Couple days, like today and tomorrow, or a couple days like, tomorrow and the next day?" Connor asked, really needing clarification.

"We'll see," was Angel's infuriating answer.

"Hey, Connor, would you take me..." Spike teased. "Oh wait."

Connor scowled.

"Young man, it is not nice to eavesdrop on other people's conversations," Angel scolded. "And it is especially not nice to taunt and tease. How would you like it if I took this away and then smacked your bottom?" Angel reached for Spike's prized stuffed elephant.

"No!" Spike pleaded. "No, don't take it! I'm sorry!"

"Apologize to Connor, not to me," Angel instructed.

"Sorry, Connor," Spike offered, staring at his sock-covered feet. "Do you hate me?"

"Of course not! Why would I hate you? It's all right, buddy," Connor said, kneeling down and giving him a reassuring hug. "I got in a little trouble, too, but Angel still loves me, even when he yells at me."

"I did not yell," Angel murmured.

Spike wrapped his arms around Connor's neck, and Connor picked him up.

"You know your shirt's on inside out?" he asked with amusement, flicking at the tag hanging down.

"So?" Spike asked.

"So either you dressed yourself, or you let Angel do it..." Connor said with a wink.

"You're not allowed to tease!" Spike reminded him.

"All right, all right," Connor said. "Sheesh. When did you become such a stickler for the rules, anyway?"

Spike glanced at Angel, but didn't reply.

"What are we doing today, Dad?" Connor asked.

"Well, looks like you already did all the work we had scheduled..."

"Sorry," Connor mumbled.

"Hey, I'm not complaining," Angel added. "I also wouldn't say no to another case or two, but until that happens, I say we—"

"Play!" Spike finished for him.

"That," Angel said, tapping him on the nose, "is _exactly_ what I was going to say."


	11. Chapter 11

He hadn't thought that he would, but Angel learned something about himself over the course of the next few days. Angel, it turned out, was _damn good_ at playing.

Though "Uncle Connor" was still obviously preferable to "Papa," Spike readily accepted him as a playmate now, which was an accomplishment all its own considering their recent and not-so-recent past of, well, not playing nice together. Angel found that, as long as he steered Spike clear of anything that involved keeping score, winning, or losing, they could have a decent enough time. Fine. He was a man. He could admit it—playing was downright fun.

"Will there be … _torture_?" Spike prompted. "If I'm captured?"

"Oh, yes," Angel answered in his best fake sinister voice with just a hint of Irish lilt. "Torture of the highest order for you, my boy!"

"What'll it be?" Spike asked eagerly. "Will it be the rack? The lash? Hot pokers? Oh, is it hot pokers, Angel?"

"Worse," Angel gravely replied, shaking his head solemnly.

"What's worse than hot pokers?" Spike wondered aloud.

He thought hot pokers were pretty bad. After all, he'd once—or maybe it was more than once; who really kept track of these things?—had Angel himself tortured with hot pokers. He'd never really been called on that, either ... yet. Hopefully Angel hadn't waited until this very moment to seek his revenge. Spike was pretty sure they were still just playing, though, because Angel was using that silly voice that he liked so much, and besides, Connor was just right over there, doing … well, something or other. And Connor wouldn't let anything happen to him.

"I'll hold you down..." Angel said, advancing on him menacingly.

"Yes?" Spike asked, a bit apprehensive now.

"And I'll..."

"Yes?"

"I'll cover your face in kisses!"

Angel simultaneously announced the "horrible" fate and grabbed Spike, who squealed with delight and struggled to get away as Angel did just as he'd threatened.

"Ew, yuck!" he protested, animatedly wiping at his face and clearly thrilled with the whole ordeal. "You got your slobber all over me!"

"That's the price you pay for being foolishly captured, little boy," Angel said with mock arrogance as he scooped Spike up onto his shoulders and then let him dangle backwards and upside down behind him. "Now, enough of this nonsense. Where did I put Will? Connor, have you seen Will lately?"

Connor rolled his eyes. That might—_might_—have been amusing the first three times Angel had done it, but it was really starting to get old. Spike didn't seem to think so, though, and he yelled all kinds of pleas for help and mercy as Angel swung him about by his ankles and let him hang perilously close to the floor.

"He's behind you," Connor said humorlessly as he shuffled through his papers.

"Where?" Angel asked, turning from side to side in abrupt, jerky motions so that Spike would get the full benefit of the action. "Boy, when I find him, he sure is gonna be in big trouble!"

"I'm here! I'm here!" Spike squealed.

Angel dropped Spike unceremoniously onto the couch before turning around and feigning surprise at seeing him there.

"William!" he exclaimed. "Just where have you been, young man? The nerve, running off like that and hiding from me! I know just what will cure you of such impudence!"

"No!" Spike cried as he clambered to his knees and halfheartedly attempted to escape over the back of the couch.

Angel caught him there with his bottom in the air and gave it a solid whack. Connor, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn't paying them any attention, winced. He thought Angel might be playing a bit too rough, but Spike didn't seem to mind.

"Don't, Papa!" he cried out in his best distressed voice. "I'll be ever so good!"

"I don't know..." Angel said doubtfully. "You were terribly wicked..."

"No!" Spike squealed, throwing his hands back. "I won't do it again! I promise!"

"Hmm," Angel said thoughtfully. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure! I'm sure!"

"All right..."

Angel released his hold on Spike, who relaxed and made to slide back down onto the couch on his knees. Angel took the opportunity to whack him one more time, and Spike yelped accordingly.

"Ouch! That hurt!" he said hotly, though the subsequent giggling detracted somewhat from his righteous indignation.

"I'm sure it did," Angel replied easily, plopping down onto the couch and pulling Spike into his lap. "But that's what naughty little boys get for running away and hiding from their papas. You know what else they get? _Tickled_!"

"For the love of God, I am trying to do our taxes," Connor snapped, and then immediately felt bad for it—well, a little.

"I think you're in trouble," Spike whispered to Angel. "He's cross again."

"I am _not_ cross," Connor said irritably. "I'm just trying to get some work done, and it would be a whole lot easier if you two would shut up."

Yeah, okay. Connor had cabin fever. He knew that, but knowing it didn't make enduring it any easier. Angel had taken his car keys away from him—he glanced at the clock—fifty-three and one-half hours ago, and he'd not once mentioned when he might return them. Had he forgotten he even had them? That was entirely possible... Should Connor bring it up? Would it be some sort of admission of defeat if he did? No... He knew better. It'd just be whining.

"He said 'shut up,'" Spike commented to Angel, and Connor bristled slightly, really not wanting to deal with having even more of his faults pointed out. "I thought he wasn't allowed to say that? I think he should get in trouble."

"It isn't nice," Angel murmured in agreement. "But maybe Uncle Connor has a point. Let's you and me go upstairs for awhile, okay?"

"No!" Connor said quickly, gathering his papers and pens and calculator. "It's fine. You stay. I'll go."

Weren't vampires supposed to be quiet? This pair had not been quiet in... Had they _ever_ been quiet? The very thought of the two of them crashing around a floor above him and playing pirates or bandits or whatever just set Connor's teeth on edge. Did that make him a crotchety old man? Maybe. But he felt that he was being a very patient crotchety old man, and he'd better not hear a single word of complaint if the tax forms got screwed up. And he certainly deserved a freakin' medal for not losing his cool when, as he neared the second floor landing, he heard Spike say,

"I guess it's okay. He sent himself to his room."

* * *

_A/N: Short, I know, but it's all I've got for you right now, and as I may not get a chance to work on it for awhile, I thought I'd go ahead and put it up._


	12. Chapter 12

Spike sighed happily. It had been the best day!

It wasn't even dark yet, and he was already nearly worn out from all the fun that he and Angel had had. He suspected that Angel was tired, too, and that's why he had planted him at the kitchen table and told him they needed to eat before they did anything else.

Connor hadn't wanted to play with him much the past couple of days, pretending to be more interested in his tax booklets than in roughhousing, but that was okay. It seemed Angel was always up for some horseplay, and he could be counted on for a bit of fun even as Connor shouted at them to stop running and throwing things inside before they broke something. Spike didn't know when exactly Connor had become the responsible adult of the house. It must have been sometime during his own absence.

He knew the real reason Connor was being so touchy, though, was because he still hadn't gotten his car keys back. Spike didn't see what the big deal was. It wasn't like he'd been confined to his room or anything. He could go outside whenever he wanted. He had legs, and a job, and could get a taxi cab and order up any destination of his choosing. He could go to the beach and splash in the water and get a suntan...

Spike stared longingly—and from a distance—out the window into the soft hues of the setting sun.

"What are you doing?" Angel asked as he brought in dinner.

"Just thinkin'," Spike answered, taking the mug of warmed blood and slurping it gratefully.

"Manners," Angel chided.

"Are for girls," Spike answered cheekily, and Angel ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Smart aleck."

"I wish we could go outside and play," Spike said wistfully, glancing toward the window again.

The comment had been innocent enough, but it alarmed Angel and immediately put him on his guard. He took a deep breath—sometimes he needed to breathe even though he didn't _need_ to breathe—before replying.

"William, you do know that you are _not_ to go outside during the daytime, right?" he checked. "Not unless you have me or Connor with you to keep you safe."

"I know," Spike answered, but he'd taken a little too long for Angel's liking.

"I mean it," Angel said sternly, taking Spike's mug away from him so he'd have his full attention. "This isn't one of those rules that adults make up just to keep kids from having fun. You are … severely allergic … to the sun, and it will hurt you."

"I _know_!" Spike replied hotly, embarrassed because Angel had caught him daydreaming up schemes before he'd truly even realized that was what he had been doing. "I didn't forget I was a vampire."

"It would kill me if you got hurt," Angel continued.

He didn't mean to keep dwelling on the topic, as Spike really did seem to get it, but the little guy had to understand the severity of the situation. Angel tried to think back to what it was like to be six years old and enjoying the warm sunshine on his face, but well, he just couldn't remember. He suspected that Spike could, however, and even if he couldn't, he'd pretend he could, and that would only spell trouble.

Connor had been right. They needed to set up some clear-cut rules and consequences. Angel needed some time to think on it, though, and didn't want to put a downer on their night. It could wait until tomorrow.

"We can play outside at night sometimes, if you want," he added after a moment. "The back garden is really nice now, all lit up and everything. Connor made me hire a gardener..."

"Never mind," Spike said, suddenly sullen. "Forget I said anything."

He reached for his mug, which Angel returned to him, and downed it before asking,

"When do you think I'll be normal again?"

"When have you ever been normal?" Angel tried to joke, but it fell flat.

"Can I call Willow and ask?" Spike said, suddenly inspired. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. "Maybe she can just fix me right up!"

"No," Angel said quickly. "She uh … She told me she can't. You'll just have to wait for it to wear off."

Angel was ashamed of himself for the lie even though he wasn't entirely certain it was 100% untrue. Willow hadn't said she could fix him, but she hadn't said she couldn't, either. In fact, she may have been about to give him some more information on the subject when Angel had suddenly had terrible, yes, just terrible cell phone reception problems and been cut off.

"Oh," Spike replied sadly, easily accepting Angel's half-truth as fact. "Okay."

"You know what?" Angel asked, his guilt intensifying his desire to cheer the little boy up. "I know Uncle Connor's been kind of grouchy, but I'll bet it would really make him happy if you'd go find him and give him these."

Angel pulled the keys to that ridiculously orange, ticket-garnering Mustang from his pocket and dropped them into Spike's hand.

"Tell him he's suffered enough," Angel instructed as Spike hopped up from his chair to carry out the task. "And then ask him if he'll take us out for a drive... But be sly about it."

"All right!" Spike said eagerly.

Sly. Spike could do sly. Spike was like, the slyest ever.

He slyly barged into Connor's room, where he found him not engrossed by tax forms at all, but instead lying on his bed watching television.

"It would be polite if you'd knock next time," Connor said mildly.

"Oh," Spike said, rather unconcerned. "Well, here you go."

He tossed the keys up, and they landed on Connor's stomach with a welcome jangle. Connor stared wordlessly at them for a moment before turning a questioning gaze toward Spike.

"Papa says let that be a lesson to you," Spike obediently reported.

Well, that was _sort of _what Angel had said.

"He does, does he?" Connor asked with a wry smile. "That doesn't sound like something Papa would say."

"Oh, well, you've just not known him long enough, then," Spike replied, jumping up on the bed and bouncing a little bit until Connor gave him a warning look.

"Well, you just tell Papa that I said … thanks."

"Right, got it," Spike said mischievously. "Tell him you said sod off."

"Maybe I'd better just tell him myself," Connor answered with a laugh, his mood already significantly improved.

"Hey, can we go out?" Spike asked eagerly, forgetting his mission to be sly. "Angel says we can, if you'll take us!"

"Oh?" Connor asked, sitting up and reaching toward his sock drawer.

Hell yes. He'd _love_ to go out. He didn't care where, or for how long. The semi-self-imposed grounding had been nearly insufferable, and he needed out of this house.

"I don't know," he said, rummaging around underneath the bed until he found his favorite pair of sneakers, the ones that Angel hated so much because, he said, they were almost as old as he was. "We'll see."

"That's why you're putting on your shoes?" Spike noted. "So that we can see?"

"Smarty pants," Connor replied, reaching out and giving him a playful shove.

Spike grinned, leapt noisily and dangerously from the bed, and ran to Connor's doorway where he bellowed the announcement,

"He says we can go!"

"Awesome!" Angel called back.

_Awesome_? Had Connor heard that right? Did his stuffy old dad, who read dusty old books written in stodgy olde English, just use the word "awesome?" Well, that was one exclamation Connor was going to have to forever strike from his vocabulary.

"Can I drive?" Angel asked as Connor came bounding down the stairs with Spike on his heels.

"Oh," Connor said, trying to conceal his disappointment. He held the keys out. "Sure, Dad."

"I'm only giving you a hard time, Connor," Angel answered, pulling him in for a quick hug and hoping there were no hard feelings.

"Thank goodness!" Connor said with relief. "Where to?"

"I don't know, I thought maybe we could go over to—"

Spike cleared his throat, and the two of them turned to look at him.

"Well," he said, suddenly shy. "There's … I mean, I heard there's a pond down at that little park, the one that's a few blocks from here. And I heard there's ducks in it, and you can see them even at night..."

"You heard that, huh?" Angel asked with an indulgent smile. "You have some sources on the outside who keep you abreast of the duck situation?"

"We can go there," Connor said, heading toward the door.

"Wait!" Spike called urgently.

"What?" Angel asked.

"We have to take bread to feed them," he informed them, blushing. "Connor, can we have some of yours?"

Connor laughed and changed course to swing by the kitchen.

"Of course," he called over his shoulder. "I'll bring the whole loaf."

"Yeah!" Spike said happily.

Angel glanced out the window and did a perfunctory sunlight check to make sure they weren't going to burst into flames when the door opened, but the sun had already sunk below the horizon. He gave Spike the all-clear and gazed lovingly at the little boy as he ran toward Connor's convertible and flung the passenger side door open. Angel followed, wondering if they were going to have an issue over seating arrangements, but his little Will had already clambered into the backseat and was gazing impatiently toward the Hyperion, clearly thinking all the ducks were going to fly off indefinitely before they got there.

"Let me help you with the seat belt," Angel said, leaning the front seat up and out of his way as he did so.

Spike seemed awfully small there in the backseat, joined only by an empty fast food cup and a few stray CDs that Connor had left lying around. Should they get him a booster seat? Until what age did one require a booster seat, anyway? Angel realized with dismay that he didn't have a clue. On the plus side, Spike was a vampire. Even if they did happen to have a horrible accident, he'd more than likely be okay.

"What's wrong, Papa?" Spike asked, picking up on Angel's worries. "We're still goin', right?"

"Yeah, buddy," Angel said, adjusting the seat belt as best he could and snapping him in. "You be good for me and sit very still back here until we get where we're going, all right?"

"Yeah. Tell Connor to hurry up!" Spike said, trying to look around Angel toward the door.

"Hold your horses," Angel admonished. "We'll get there."

Spike huffed but didn't say anything else about it. Angel replaced the front seat and buckled himself in. Honestly, he normally wouldn't bother, but with one so young and impressionable in the car, he thought it a good idea.

"Got it!" Connor said when he finally got out there.

He tossed the bag of bread into Angel's lap and had the key in the ignition before he even had both feet inside the car.

"Seat belt," Angel simply said, and Connor immediately complied.

"I always wear it, Dad," he assured him. "Promise."

"You'd better."

"Three blocks east and two blocks south," Spike said. "I think."

"You think?" Connor asked.

"Well," Spike admitted slowly. "I've never actually got to go."

"How do you know about it?" Angel asked.

"The nuns took the other kids once, but I couldn't go," he said bitterly.

"Because of the sun?" Angel asked sympathetically.

"No," Spike answered easily. "'Cuz I was bad that day."

Connor snorted.

"You were bad?" Angel asked with a frown.

"Leave him alone, Dad," Connor said. "It's probably a good thing he didn't get to go. What was he supposed to do, explain that he caught fire if the light hit him?"

"Yeah," Angel begrudgingly agreed. "How did you stay out of the light the rest of the time, though, pal? Weren't there times while you were there that they wanted you to go outside?"

"I wasn't there long," Spike said. "Just a few days, until I told them I had family here. But I made sure to be bad every day so they wouldn't let me do anything fun. It was dark enough inside."

Angel sighed deeply. That was just about one of the saddest things he'd ever heard.

"Did you get hungry?" he asked, dreading the answer. "I assume they probably didn't have blood on tap."

"Yeah."

"You should have come home sooner," Angel chided. "Why didn't you just call? I would have come and gotten you, you know."

"Chill, Dad," Connor said gently, squeezing his father's shoulder. "It all turned out fine, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Angel grumbled after a few seconds. "But he should have known better. There was just no reason for him to be stuck at a fuh—at an orphanage."

"Whoa!" Connor said, grinning like crazy at his dad's near-slip. "I didn't know you even knew that word."

"Heard you say it often enough," Angel groused.

"Touche."

"What word?" Spike asked, since he had already stopped listening to them so he could dedicate his full attention to looking out the window.

"Nothing," Angel said quickly, just as Connor was about to actually tell him.

Angel smacked Connor sharply on the side of his leg and gave him an impressive glare.

"Hey!" he said, laughing. "Some of us are trying to drive here, Dad."

"There!" Spike called cheerfully, pointing toward the entrance of the park. "It's there, I know it!"

"Great," Connor answered, pulling in. "Wasn't as long a drive as I'd hoped, but at least it was a drive."

What two men who never went to the park to feed ducks hadn't counted on, however, was that the park actually closed after dark. Connor frowned hard at the tall wrought iron gate ahead of them.

"Oh nooooo," Spike said with dismay, not needing to be told what the hold up was. "Nooo!"

"Just calm down," Angel said gently. "It's all right."

"It's not all right!" Spike said tearfully. "It's closed!"

"Not for us, it isn't," Angel said, turning to give the little boy a conspiratorial grin.

"We're gonna sneak in?" Connor asked.

"Yeah," Angel said easily.

Connor shrugged.

"Cool."

"But isn't it wrong to sneak in?" Spike asked worriedly.

"Normally, yes," Angel answered. "But this time is an exception."

"Why?" Spike demanded.

"Yeah, Dad, why?" Connor asked innocently, interested in hearing just what his father would come up with.

"Bread shortage," Angel answered. "The ducks are very hungry. It's an emergency."

"What if we didn't bring enough!" Spike exclaimed.

"We did," Angel assured him. "We brought just the right amount."

Connor backed out of the entrance and found a place to park a few yards away. Soon the three of them had stealthily scaled the fence and entered the park grounds. Spike had only taken a little more coaxing before he agreed to breaking and entering.

"Okay, but we better not get in trouble!" he whispered as his feet hit the ground.

"If we do, I'll take all the blame," Angel said, having no intention of getting caught.

Feeding ducks was, of course, _amazing_. Connor and Angel had been worried that they would be off sleeping or whatever ducks did at night, but there were a few stragglers left on the little pond in the middle of the park. They didn't need to be asked twice to visit once they spied the food Spike carried, and soon the little boy sat happily on the ground dispensing bread to all his new feathered friends.

"I've heard ducks can be mean," Angel whispered worriedly to Connor. "Especially if you have food and then all of a sudden you don't..."

"Relax, Papa Bear," Connor said wryly. "I think we can handle a couple of duck thugs if we have to."

"Wish I'd brought my camera," Angel lamented as he watched the scene.

"Brought mine," Connor replied, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it over. "Knew you'd want to save this moment for future blackmail."

Angel took the camera and tried to decide if saving this moment forever—whether for blackmail purposes or not—was worth using the flash and risking getting busted. He decided that yes, yes it was, and quickly snapped a photo after glancing around to see if there was any danger. One of the ducks chose that moment to quack loudly, and he jumped guiltily. Connor chuckled.

"Hush," Angel murmured, deciding on the spur of the moment to snap a pic of his son, too.

"No flash photography," Connor grumbled, pushing the camera out of his face. "You know I don't like having my picture taken."

"Tough," Angel said, slipping his son's camera into his own jacket pocket in case he saw something else he wanted to capture.

"Out of bread," Spike announced, getting to his feet and dusting the dirt off his pants.

The ducks weren't happy about that at all, as Angel had predicted, and began to snap at Spike's feet a little in retaliation.

"Hey!" Spike said, his feelings hurt. "I gave you all I had!"

Connor swooped in and picked Spike up before his memory of a fine evening of duck feeding could be spoiled by some hard, greedy beaks.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, quickly walking away from the squawking birds.

"I guess," Spike said reluctantly. "Only..."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe we should play on the swings first," he suggested tentatively. "You know, if you want."

"I _so_ want," Connor said enthusiastically.

Connor headed toward the nearest swing set and dropped Spike into one of the seats. He sat down in the one beside him and noted with amusement that Spike's feet didn't actually touch the ground.

"I guess you need someone to push you..." Connor observed, shooting Angel a pointed look.

"Oh, me! I'll do it!" Angel said quickly, hurrying over as if someone else might steal the job from him at any moment.

Angel grabbed the ropes of the swing and pulled it back slightly before letting it go.

"Weak," Connor said. "He wants to go faster than that. Don't you, Spike?"

"Yeah!" Spike agreed. "Faster, Papa! And higher, too!"

"Are you sure?" Angel asked, thinking it looked pretty dangerous.

"Yeah!"

Well, he couldn't really argue with that, so he pulled the swing back a little farther before letting it go, and made sure to give it a shove, too. Spike kicked his legs in the air to propel himself further, and once he'd gotten the hang of it, Angel stepped away to let him have at it.

"Now me, Papa," Connor said on a whim, leaning his head back and giving his father his most charming, and most impish, grin.

Angel felt a swell of love for his Connor in that moment, so much so that he actually wondered if he might be in danger of achieving perfect happiness, and kissed him on top of the head before sending him flying, too.

He sighed blissfully. It had been the best day.


	13. Chapter 13

"Con, wake up," Angel whispered again, shaking him slightly. "Connor."

"Don't wanna go to school today, Mom," Connor murmured sleepily.

"You're faking that," Angel said with a laugh. "Open your eyes. I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong?"

Connor put his pillow over his face so snugly that he wondered if he might accidentally smother himself. Wouldn't that be funny, in a Darwin Awards kind of way? He didn't have to worry about it, though, because Angel yanked the pillow away and began thumping him on the stomach with it.

"Aww, Dad," Connor complained, but didn't move. "I'm awake. What's going on?"

"I've gotta go out," Angel said, ceasing his pillow assault.

"Where?"

"We have a couple of cases."

"I'll go with you," Connor insisted, dragging himself upright with a tremendous yawn and making a conscious effort to appear less sleepy.

"No can do, kiddo," Angel said. "You're on Spike watch."

"Oh, right," Connor said. "Guess we can't take him. How long will you be gone?"

"All day, probably. You think you can handle him by yourself?"

"Yeah, of course," Connor said defensively. "How hard could it be?"

Angel smiled. When he himself had said that very thing not too long ago, Connor had immediately told him he was wrong. He wisely decided to avoid bringing that up right now, though.

"Well, listen," he said instead. "There's blood in the fridge."

"I know. There's always blood in the fridge."

"Yeah, but what I'm saying is, don't forget to give him breakfast and lunch, and you might have to do dinner, too, if I'm not back by then."

"Don't worry, Dad. Spike won't let me let him miss a meal," Connor assured him. "Plus, I'm an excellent cook. I press microwave buttons like nobody's business."

Angel ruffled his son's messy hair and pinched his cheek, and Connor slapped his hand away.

"Is it dangerous, what you're doing?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah," Angel said with a grin. "Isn't it always?"

"Kick their asses, Dad," Connor said, holding out his hand for a high five, which Angel indulged him in.

"Will do. Don't stay in bed all day. You've got a kid to watch."

"Yeah, yeah."

Connor closed his eyes and listened to Angel disappear down the stairs and out one of the back doors. A brief flash of one of his false, but oh-so-real-feeling memories crossed his mind, that of the first time his parents had let him and his little sister stay home together without a babysitter. He had been about fifteen, and she'd been ten or eleven. It had been a total disaster, and had ended up with both of them being grounded "for the foreseeable future," which actually turned out to be a month or so.

Really, at about that same time, he would have been huddled in a cave with Holtz, trying to wait out the Wahoo demon that couldn't fit through the entrance but was hell-dimension-bent on trying. Wahoo wasn't their real name, probably, but the nickname had stuck after Connor, as a small child, had heard one yell, "Wahoo!" after smashing a small animal to bits on a slab of rock. He remembered himself as a hormonal teen, sick to death of being cramped up in that dank cave, cowering just because of some scaly-faced menace. He'd crept out one morning as Holtz had nodded off from sheer exhaustion and slain the thing himself, but not without getting some seriously nasty wounds in the process. Holtz had been livid for about fifteen seconds and had given him a good rough shake before embracing him and reminding him to give extra thanks to God that day. Connor did, but he secretly gave extra thanks to his trusty sword and fast healing powers, too.

Well, either way, he was older and wiser now, so he didn't intend to let anything disastrous happen. Spike was his little buddy, and he knew that if he just kept him fed and entertained, they wouldn't have any problems. Connor didn't mean to, but he drifted back to sleep thinking about it all.

Spike was already so bored. He'd peeked into Connor's room, but found him still an unconscious lump. He'd then crept to Angel's room. He wondered if he was supposed to be in there without permission, but he quickly dismissed his worries when he realized that his Papa wasn't even home. What Angel didn't know wouldn't hurt him, so he had a look around. Angel's room was boring as ever, except the bathroom. Angel still had all the best haircare products, and much to Spike's amusement, he also had a decorative rubber whale on the side of his giant bathtub. Spike snickered to himself, picturing Angel playing with that while he took a bubble bath. Angel, covered in bubbles! It was just too much hilarity, and Spike really had to work to keep the volume of his giggles to an acceptable level.

Bubbles. Bubbles sure were fun. There was probably something in one of those plastic bottles that made bubbles, too. Any kind of soap would do, really. And Angel's tub was big, much bigger than the one in his own room. How could anyone begrudge him taking a bath? Didn't everyone _want_ little boys to take baths? Didn't Angel make him take a bath every night, anyway, just in his own room in his shallower tub? Besides, it wasn't like he was going to drown... Or if he did, he'd live through it.

With a surreptitious glance around to make sure he wasn't being watched, Spike reached out and tentatively turned on the hot and cold taps in equal amounts, very low. He reached for a purple bottle and dumped a little bit under the stream of water. It didn't make a very satisfying amount of bubbles, so he poured a little more in. That was a bit better, but still not quite right. The bottle was small, so he just emptied the rest of it into the water, and then realized that the reason it wasn't creating enough bubbly goodness was probably because the water wasn't running in fast enough. If he turned it up, though, Connor might hear... But really, what was Connor going to do about it? Connor surely wouldn't be upset with him. All he wanted to do was to be fresh and clean. Okay, and maybe to play a little.

He turned both taps wide open and grinned with satisfaction. Now they were getting somewhere! He tossed Angel's toy whale into the mix and watched it rise with the water level, happily floating along without a care in the world. A quick glance out the bathroom door told him that Connor wasn't coming yet, so he let the tub fill all the way to the rim. The foamy bubbles reached a good foot and a half higher than that, but they weren't going anywhere.

He could probably be in and out before Connor was any the wiser. He stripped off his pajama top and bottoms, but left his underpants on. He did have some sense of modesty, after all, and if he happened to get caught, he didn't want to be caught that way. Throwing caution to the wind, he crawled up onto the side of the tub—which was a little slippery, but he managed not to fall—and did a miniature cannonball into the water.

Wow! It was fantastic! The water was almost up to his neck, despite the amount that had splashed into the floor upon his entrance, and he had to bat bubbles away so they wouldn't cover his face. He felt around until he found that whale, and once he did, he made it swim around the tub while he gave it pretend jet ski and tugboat noises. The bubbles smelled really good, kinda like a sour apple candy, so he gathered some of them up and rubbed them into his hair. He fashioned his 'do into several pointy spikes on top of his head, and imagined that he looked rather like a dinosaur. He wished he could see, but even if he could have looked in the mirror, Papa didn't have one.

Then he remembered Connor's cell phone picture trick, though, and the desire to see his own image was strong enough to propel him out of the water to go looking for Connor's phone. He crawled carefully out of the tub, one leg at a time, but it wasn't enough to keep him from slipping in the soapy mess on the floor, and his legs went out from under him, causing him to hit the cold tile on his hip with a thud.

He paused momentarily. Did he want to cry? No, it didn't hurt too bad. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but it didn't hurt too bad. He scooted over to the sink into a slightly drier area and pulled himself to his feet.

Now, where would Connor's phone be? Connor was always texting people and playing games, so he really doubted that it'd be anywhere but with Connor in his room, and possibly on his person. Connor was probably still dead to the world, anyway, so he would just dash in there and find it, take his dinosaur picture, and put it back. Yes, that would work.

He wiped his feet on the carpet in front of the bathroom door and crept silently down the hall in his dripping underwear. He pushed Connor's door open—sure enough, he was still sleeping. A quick look around landed him the cell phone's location, and he snatched it off the nightstand and took it back to the bathroom, rather proud of himself for his stealth. Once he figured out how to turn the phone on, he set about angling the camera just right so he could get a good view of himself. The first attempt yielded only the image of the bathtub behind him and over his head, so he lowered the phone for his next try. That one only got his chin and chest, which wasn't at all what he wanted. He raised it just slightly and took another, making sure to lean his head forward a little to catch his hair. Success! It really _did_ look like a dinosaur, one of those extra-spiky kinds, probably the very meanest of them all!

Spike closed the phone and headed toward the door to put it back, but it slipped out of his hand and landed on the floor with a sickening crack before sliding straight into a puddle of soapy water. Oh no! That couldn't be good, not good at all! He scurried over to save it, but found it had a jagged line running down the screen, and it wouldn't turn on. Oh, he was going to be in so much trouble if Connor found out! Wait... _If_ Connor found out. He … he could hide it. Yes, he could hide the phone somewhere that it'd never be found, and Connor would think it had been stolen, and he'd just get a new one and never suspect a thing! That sounded good. That sounded like a plan.

Spike spun around to carry out said plan and smacked right into the man in question, who stood staring at him, rather speechless, with his arms folded over his chest and a mad frown on his face. Spike couldn't help it—he began to cry.

"What—how—what are—why did—do you—I don't..."

Connor must have still been too asleep to form coherent thoughts, because that was all that came out of his mouth for several minutes as he surveyed the situation in front of him. A literal flood in his father's bathroom was bad enough, but it looked like Spike had used Angel's $40 shampoo as bubble bath. And was that his phone there, all mangled looking and obviously soaked through?

"Is that my phone!" was the first full sentence he finally got out.

"I didn't mean to!" Spike blubbered tearfully, clutching the wet phone to his chest as if it would provide him some sort of protection against Connor's wrath.

"Give me that," Connor snapped, taking it away and gazing dumbly at it.

"I didn't mean to!" Spike repeated.

"What happened?" Connor asked, his voice strangled with shock and annoyance and a little bit of fear about just what Angel was going to do to him if he couldn't get the bathroom back into tiptop shape before his dad got home.

"I wanted to take a bath!" Spike cried piteously.

"Go on," Connor invited, trying not to glare so hard, but if the look on Spike's face was any indication, failing.

"I … I wanted bubbles … and then … I … my hair, I put them in my hair … and … I-I wanted to see what it looked like."

"So you took my phone without asking me, and then managed to break it?" Connor asked sharply.

"I didn't mean to!"

"No, you didn't mean to, but that doesn't change the fact that you did it," Connor said sternly, reminding himself way too much of Angel.

"I'm sorry!"

Was Connor about to smack him? He certainly looked like he might be. The thought of him being angry enough to smack him was just unbearable, and Spike wrapped his wet little arms around both of Connor's legs and cried into his flannel pajama pants, needing reassurance that Connor didn't hate him and there was some chance of being forgiven.

"Oh, hey," Connor said awkwardly, reaching to pat him on the head but changing his mind due to the soapy mess on top of it. "It's … It's okay, I guess. It's only a phone. I can get a new one, no problem."

"I'm really sorry!" Spike sobbed heartily into Connor's leg.

"I know," Connor offered weakly. "It's … it's fine. We just … We really need to get it cleaned up in here, or Dad's gonna whup us both when he gets home."

Angel! Spike had been so concerned with the immediate threat in front of him that he hadn't even thought about how Angel might react to his behavior.

"Don't tell him, Connor!" he begged. "Please don't tell him! He likes me now, and he won't anymore if you tell him what I did!"

"Whoa, what?" Connor asked, trying to discern meaning out of the rushed words. "What do you mean, he won't like you?"

"Let's just get it cleaned up!" Spike said urgently, looking in Angel's closet for towels. "Hurry."

"No, hey, wait," Connor said, putting a hand on his arm to stop him from grabbing a pile of Angel's "good" towels. "Let's uh … Let's get the crappier towels from my room, okay?"

After Connor had rinsed out Spike's … spikes … and they'd mopped up the mess "good enough," Connor tossed the wet towels, along with Spike's wet clothes, into the washer in the basement.

"You uh... You should probably get into some clean clothes," Connor said uncomfortably. "Or, you know, any clothes at all."

"Oh," Spike said, looking down at his bare legs. "Yeah."

"You..." Connor started, and then cleared his throat and began again. "I … I think maybe you should spend a little time in your room, pal."

"You're … you're punishing me?" Spike asked brokenheartedly.

"Well," Connor said, resolving himself to being strong. "I … yeah. Go to your room, okay? I think you should. Just … Just for awhile. I'll come let you know when your time is up."

Connor almost caved under the look of thoroughly genuine despair that Spike gave him, and he finally understood why Angel was being such a pushover with the kid. Geez. How could anyone punish a little boy with a face like that?

"I … um … Come here," he said, dropping to his knees and pulling Spike to him for a big hug. "I'm not angry, okay? But I do think what you did deserves a little time-out. You know, so you can … reflect on what happened … and how to prevent it from happening in the future..."

God, Connor felt like a babbling idiot. He wondered if this was why Angel had usually just whipped his ass first and talked later—if at all.

"Okay," Spike whispered despondently. "I'm goin'."

He turned and trudged up the stairs and down the hallway to his room, where he shut the door before lying face-down on his bed and trying to hold back the tears that wanted to flow down his cheeks. He wasn't a crybaby—or at least, he didn't want to be. He knew he'd messed up, and Connor had been pretty decent about the whole thing. Still, he wondered how long he'd have to stay in here...

After what felt like an eternity of Connor not coming to spring him, Spike fell asleep. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but peals of laughter—children's laughter, coming from outside—woke him. He slid off the bed, rubbed his eyes, and tiptoed toward the window. The sunlight wasn't streaming in, so he should be able to at least get a glimpse through the glass of what was going on outside.

Three little boys were playing on the sidewalk below. Well, he thought of them as little boys at first, but then he quickly realized that all three of them were probably "older" than he currently was. They had hockey sticks and a ball, and they were whacking it back and forth among them. Spike sighed. That sure did look like fun. He leaned his face against the windowpane and stared longingly at the action. The boys must have had that "being watched" feeling, because one of them soon turned his head and looked straight up at him. After staring at Spike and then conversing with each other for a moment, all three boys smiled and waved to him.

Spike looked behind him to make sure Connor wasn't coming, and then he went a step further and went over to lock his bedroom door. He felt incredibly … well, naughty … in doing so, but he just couldn't help himself. He quickly returned to the window, which he opened after glancing around carefully to make sure the sun wasn't hitting that side of the building. It was still very much daytime, but it didn't look like he'd be in any immediate danger if he stuck his head out just for a minute...


	14. Chapter 14

_Thank you for all the lovely reviews of the last chapter!_

* * *

Connor shook his head, still disbelieving at how such a little boy could make such a big mess. He'd gone over Angel's bathroom for the third time, making sure every single drop of water was out of the floor and that everything was arranged just like his dad liked it. The shampoo that Spike had used for bubble bath was completely empty. Connor didn't know how much had been left in it before the incident, but he'd bet it was enough that Angel wouldn't believe he'd just borrowed a little bit.

Why was he even considering trying to cover this up, though? It wasn't exactly the end of the world. And the bathroom floor was extra clean now, too. But, well, if he had to explain what had happened, then he'd have to explain _why_ it had happened—because he'd slept in and not gotten up to watch Spike like he was supposed to, after he'd scoffed and told Angel that _of course_ he could handle one day alone with the little brat. No, not brat. That wasn't nice or even fair, and he shouldn't think of him like that. Connor knew he was just lashing out because he was upset with himself.

Still, he and Spike could probably make it to a salon for a shampoo refill and be back before Angel got home...

Connor knocked and went to push Spike's door open, but found that it was locked. Locked? Well, he hadn't told him _not_ to lock it...

"Spike?" he called. "Spike, open this door, please."

No answer.

"Spike, I know you're probably mad at me right now, but I want to talk to you. Come let me in, please."

No answer.

Oh dear.

Connor gave the doorknob a forceful twist, breaking the lock, and pushed the door open. Spike was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Spike pushed the window open and stuck his head outside.

"What are you doing up there?" one of the boys called to him.

"Nothin'," he said quietly, hoping they could hear him at that volume so he wouldn't have to speak louder.

"You wanna play?" another one asked, holding up his hockey stick.

"Can't," Spike said, shrugging and resting his head on his arms in the windowsill.

"Why, you in trouble?" the third boy asked.

Spike shrugged again.

"Just sneak out!" the first one suggested.

Did he dare? He knew he could simply drop down out of the window, even with it so high, and easily land on his feet … and probably in the shade. That would likely impress these boys, too, and then they'd be instant friends. But he was already in trouble, and he knew it was dangerous for him to go out in the daytime.

"What, are you chicken?" the third boy asked with a gleam in his eye.

"No," he answered hotly, thinking he didn't like that boy very much.

"Come on, then!" the second one said. "Just come down the fire escape."

Well, maybe he could do that. Just for a minute. He'd just stay in the shade. First, though, he should put on some clothes, as he hadn't got around to doing that yet. He held up one finger to indicate he'd only be a moment, and then ran to the closet and pulled down the first shirt he could reach part of. He hurriedly put it on, realizing that it was a long-sleeved, button-up dress shirt. Oh well. No time to be picky. He did up the buttons, but must have missed one or two, because they didn't line up at the end. But the shirt was on and covering his body, so he put on some pants to go with it, and almost as an afterthought, some shoes, before crawling out the window and landing on the fire escape with an illicit thud.

The boys on the sidewalk began to cheer, but he frantically waved his arms to shush them and put a finger to his lips. The last thing he needed right now was Connor showing up to bust him.

Fifteen seconds later, he was on the ground and in the shade under a tree. The boys were on the other side of the fence that ran along the sidewalk, however, and Spike knew he had a much higher chance of being fried if he tried venturing out of bounds.

"You come in here!" he called quietly.

"Okay!" they answered easily, and without nearly as much convincing as Spike had thought they'd need, the three of them clambered over the rather high fence and ambled toward him with their toys.

"So what did you do?" the first boy, with wavy blond hair, asked.

"What d'you mean?" Spike asked.

"He talks funny," the third, rather unlikable boy, commented.

"I'm from England!" Spike said proudly. "_You _talk funny. I talk properly."

"What are you doing here, then?" the second boy asked. "Why aren't you in England?"

"I'm on holiday," Spike lied easily.

"Where's your family?" the blond boy asked.

"Inside," Spike said.

"Where you're supposed to be, because you got in trouble?" the third boy asked.

"I don't like you," Spike said bluntly, which shut him right up, for a moment at least.

"Henry, be quiet," the blond boy, definitely the most pleasant of the three, ordered. "Or go home."

"Fine, I will go home," he said with all the injured dignity he could muster. "And I'll be taking my things, too!"

This Henry grabbed the hockey sticks from the others' hands, shoved the ball into his pocket, and was gone over the fence and down the sidewalk within minutes. The blond boy shrugged and looked at his other friend, who gazed longingly after the hockey set and Henry's retreating back.

"Oh, go with him, Adam," the blond one said. "It's fine."

"Thanks, Tommy!" Adam said, the relief of not having to deal with this new, strange boy clear on his face. "See you at home!"

Spike thought that this wasn't going very well at all. He'd already managed to run off two of three kids in the span of mere seconds, and this Tommy wasn't likely to stick around much longer without his mates.

"Don't worry about them," Tommy said after they were out of earshot. "The dumb one, he's my best friend, Henry, but he's not very nice sometimes. My mom says it's because he's an only child."

"I'm an only child," Spike commented, wondering if he himself wasn't very nice, either.

"Oh," Tommy said uncomfortably, and then stood in silence for a moment. "Well, the other dumb one, that's my little brother Adam. He didn't mean anything by leaving. He just really likes Henry."

"I see," Spike said.

"What's your name?" the boy finally asked.

"Sp—Will," he answered.

"Spill?" the boy said, wrinkling his nose. "What kind of name is Spill? Is that English?"

"Not Spill!" Spike answered, giggling at the absurdity of that suggestion. "_Will_."

"Oh. Well, I'm Tommy. How old are you?"

"One hundred thirty-two," Spike answered automatically.

"Oh," Tommy said, looking at Spike like he was weird. "I'm eight."

"I'm really six," Spike amended, digging the toe of his shoe into the dirt and twisting it around. "But … But I'm going to be seven soon!"

"Really? When?"

"Next Thursday," Spike lied, unsure why being one whole digit older suddenly seemed so important and so utterly appealing to him.

"Cool," the boy answered.

"You wanna sit down?" Spike asked since it seemed they'd run out of small talk.

"We could go out on the sidewalk and..."

"No," Spike quickly cut him off. "I can't leave the yard. I can't be out here very long at all, really."

"You're … kinda weird," Tommy said, but he laughed good-naturedly as he said it, and he followed Spike to the shadiest patch of trees.

They only sat there for five minutes or so, but Spike learned all kinds of neat things about Tommy. Tommy lived down the street. He went to elementary school, where he had a pretty teacher and lots of friends, and he almost never got in trouble because he tried to be good for his mum. His favorite lunch was chicken strips, but they didn't have them very often. Tommy liked to play basketball, but he wasn't very good yet, so he had his very own net to practice with hung up on his garage door.

"What about you?" he asked once he'd exhausted his autobiographical facts.

"Me?" Spike asked, rather at a loss. He glanced toward the hotel. "I'm … I'm dead meat!"

Connor jogged quickly toward the two little boys sitting under the trees. Oh, when he got his hands on Spike, he was just gonna … well, he didn't even know what he was gonna do yet, that's how bad it was!

"William!" he shouted, pleased at the startled look on Spike's face. "You stay right there and _do not move_."

Connor doubted that Spike had even noticed, but the sun had shifted a little bit in the sky and was now happily shining on the ground all around the little patch of trees that Spike and his new pal were holed up in. Connor planned to pick Spike up and run him inside, and he'd brought a blanket to shield him from the sun so that he wouldn't die before he could kill him.

"Um," the other boy sitting beside him said awkwardly as Connor approached their little clandestine meeting.

"You. _Go. Home_," Connor said through clenched teeth.

Unsurprisingly, the boy didn't need to be told twice, and he hightailed it over the fence and down the street.

"What'd you do that for!" Spike protested indignantly. "He was gonna be my friend!"

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing out here?" Connor said harshly, grabbing Spike and wrapping the blanket around him even as he pulled away. "Do you have any idea how dangerous and just plain _stupid_ it was for you to come out here? You could have been dust! What would your friend have thought if you'd burst into flames right before his eyes!"

"I was careful!" Spike shouted, on the verge of tears.

"Were you?" Connor asked skeptically, pointing at numerous patches on the ground around them. "See that? Sunlight. Sunlight. _Sunlight_!"

"Okay!" Spike said, taken aback by all the yelling. "I'm sorry!"

"You're gonna be very sorry," Connor said ominously as he pulled the blanket over the back of Spike's head and straight down over his face. "You're going to be the very sorriest little boy in the whole world is what you're gonna be."

Spike leaned his face down on Connor's shoulder and cried. Way too soon, Connor had them in the house, and Spike noticed that Connor actually locked the doors behind them. That didn't bode well, as no one around here ever seemed to lock the entrance doors.

Connor set Spike down rather roughly on his feet and pulled the blanket off him. Spike wished he could have kept it for just a bit longer, as it made him feel safer, but Connor tossed it aside into the floor and dropped to one knee before grabbing Spike by both his arms.

"What were you doing?" he demanded. "You tell me everything, right now!"

"I-I just wanted to g-go outside!" he stammered tearfully.

"You know you can't 'just go outside!'" Connor scolded. "You, little boy, are a _vampire_. Vampires do not go outside on sunny California days!"

Spike shook his head, unable to speak for all the tears and emotion clogging his throat, but he hoped that shake of his head had conveyed that he understood.

"How long were you out there?" Connor asked, his voice low and dangerous sounding.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "Not too long, I don't think."

"You shouldn't have been out there at all!" Connor snapped. "You were sent to your room, not sent outside to play!"

"I'm sorry!" Spike cried.

Connor took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He knew screaming at Spike wasn't helping matters, but God, his nerves were just about shot after seeing him down on the ground surrounded by sunlight. He pulled Spike, who resisted a little at first, toward him for a hug, and while he was there, he gave him a light, warning tap on the backside.

"Don't spank me, Connor," Spike pleaded, burying his face in Connor's shoulder.

"Oh, you deserve a spanking, all right," Connor said heartlessly, pulling Spike back out to arm's length to look him in the eye. "And I can't guarantee that you won't be getting one, but you won't be getting one from me."

Spike almost sighed in relief, but then became alarmed when Connor started unbuttoning his dress shirt for him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"You won't be needing these clothes, not for the job you're about to be doing," Connor answered. "Pull your arms out."

"What job?" Spike asked, obediently removing his arms from the shirt.

"Come on. Let's go up and get you into some play clothes," Connor answered, giving him a gentle shove toward the stairs.

What Connor had in mind turned out to be anything but playing, however. After supervising Spike getting into a t-shirt and jeans, he took him by the arm and led him straight down to the first room at the end of the hallway. After making sure the curtains were secured, Connor dragged the sullen yet intrigued Spike into the bathroom, handed him an old toothbrush from God knew where, pointed to the bathtub, and told him to get scrubbing.

"You want me to clean the bathtub?" Spike asked, wrinkling his nose. "But … But why?"

Connor folded his arms across his chest and glowered down at the boy.

"Why?" he asked. "Because apparently being sent to your room doesn't mean anything to you."

"It does!" Spike said quickly. "It was awful! That's why I … left..."

He trailed off and then stared with dismay at the toothbrush in his hand.

"But I hate cleaning!"

"I know," Connor answered. "Get to it."

"But … but I don't have any cleaner!"

Connor sighed, having figured this argument might come up. He turned and rummaged around underneath the sink before coming back up with a shiny green canister of awful-smelling cleaning powder and a pair of rubber gloves. The gloves were going to be giant on Spike's tiny hands, but oh well. They would do.

"Here," he said, handing the items to the little miscreant.

"But..." Spike started again, but faltered under the look Connor gave him.

With one, and then two, last looks over his shoulder to make sure Connor was serious, Spike sank to his knees and ran a little bit of water in the tub before dumping some cleaner in and halfheartedly swiping at the sides with the toothbrush.

"You're gonna have to do a better job than that if you want to get them all done today," Connor said from behind him.

"All?" Spike asked, not daring to look around for fear Connor would see the defiance on his face.

"You're doing every bathroom down this side of the hall," Connor informed him coldly. "And then we'll talk about it and see if you're done."

Spike sighed and roughly scrubbed with the stupid toothbrush at the cold porcelain tub. It wasn't even dirty. No one ever used these rooms, and besides, he knew that Angel had a cleaning service for things like this. If his Papa were here, he wouldn't be doing this to him. He couldn't help himself. He threw a hateful glance toward Connor and then quickly sank down onto his bottom just in case his uncle changed his mind about that smacking.

Connor left the room for a moment, threatening Spike within an inch of his life if he dared even move from that section of tile, and returned with a video game of some kind. Spike watched incredulously as Connor made himself comfortable on the lid of the toilet and began to play something that had a lot of beeps, boops, and crashing noises in it.

His disgruntlement compelled him to clean a little faster, just so he wouldn't have to sit there and listen to Connor mock him. Connor was being kind of mean, he thought. But then, he _had_ broken his phone, and made a huge mess in Angel's bathroom that Connor had to clean up, and he had gone outside without permission even though he knew the risk of being hurt. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he willed them away and scrubbed harder to try and combat them, but they fell anyway.

"Hey," Connor said gently, turning his game off and patting Spike on the back. "Look at me."

"No," Spike replied petulantly, turning his face away and focusing on cleaning the area around the drain of the tub.

"Yes," Connor said simply, taking the toothbrush away from him and physically turning his face. "Why are you crying?"

Spike shook his head, unable to tell Connor how sorry he was, and that he hadn't meant to be bad, and that he knew he could have been hurt by going outside, but he just couldn't seem to control his urges.

"Hey," Connor said again, sitting down in the floor beside him. "C'mere, let's get these ridiculous gloves off of you and onto me."

"What d'you mean?" Spike asked, his breath hitching as he allowed Connor to slip the gloves off of him.

"I'm gonna help," Connor said. "We'll finish this up together, and then we'll go have lunch and watch a movie together, okay?"

"W-why?" Spike asked. "I thought you said..."

"I know what I said," Connor interrupted. "But … Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, all right?"

Spike nodded and watched mutely as Connor gave the bathtub a half-assed scrub around the edges that was clearly just for show before draining the foul, chemical-filled water and rinsing it out. Connor stood and threw the cleaner and gloves back under the sink where he'd found them. He washed his hands and lifted Spike up so he could wash his hands before carrying the little boy downstairs to the kitchen.

"Here," he said, placing the mug that was almost as full of marshmallows as it was blood in front of the subdued Spike. "Drink up."

Spike was going to protest that he wasn't hungry, but he found that he really was quite hungry, so he downed the offered food and ate the marshmallows while he silently watched Connor have a sandwich.

"You gonna tell?" he finally found the courage to ask.

"Afraid I have to," Connor answered, looking at him evenly over his can of Coke. "I think today is something Angel should know about, don't you?"

"He'll be real mad," Spike mumbled sadly.

"He might," Connor agreed. "But he'll be just as mad at me."

"Why?" Spike asked, confused.

"I didn't do a very good job today, buddy," Connor admitted with a sigh. "I was supposed to keep you safe, and instead I … I just didn't do a good job."

"I wasn't gonna get hurt," Spike said, feeling bad that Connor seemed so sad about it. "It was my fault, not yours. And I know you never had any little kids to look after before, and I think you did a real good job for your first try."

"Well, thanks," Connor said with a wry grin.

After lunch, Connor made Spike change into clothes that didn't smell like bathroom cleaner—little kids sure did go through clothes fast—and they both settled onto Connor's bed to watch TV. Spike wanted to watch _Dracula_, and he made sure to point out all the historical inaccuracies that he saw, and he told Connor that "ol' Drac" still owed him eleven pounds.

Connor didn't have the slightest idea what Spike was talking about, but he smiled and nodded and petted his hair affectionately while they watched. Eventually they heard a commotion at the front door after sundown, and Connor realized that he hadn't unlocked the doors earlier, and Angel probably hadn't taken his key—if he even had a key.

"Listen, if I take you to your room, do you promise you will stay in there this time?" he asked Spike. "No going out the window?"

"Yes," Spike replied, embarrassed and wishing that Connor would just let it go already.

"I wanna talk to Angel alone before..."

"Before he gets hold of me?" Spike finished for him.

"Well … Yes."

Spike let Connor whisk him away to his room. He grabbed his toy elephant and cuddled it a little bit, reminding himself that it would be rude to try and listen to what was being said downstairs. If Angel started yelling, though—and Angel did like to yell—it wouldn't even be a matter of _trying_ to hear. He sighed and lay back onto his pillow and tossed his elephant up and down, up and down, up and down. He was already pretty sure of his fate, but the waiting was agony.

* * *

_A/N: The next chapter is almost 100% likely to contain a spanking. If you hate that sort of thing, please just save yourself some grief and skip it._


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: This chapter contains bad language and spanking. Please skip it if you're offended by those things._

_

* * *

_

Connor made it to the bottom of the stairs just as Angel began pounding on the door.

"I'm coming, Dad!" he called. "Hang on."

"Why is the door locked?" Angel asked as he was let in.

"Long story," Connor said, trying to dodge the inevitable conversation until he got a read on his dad's mood. "How uh … How was work?"

"All right. Messy, but all right," Angel answered. "Where's Will?"

"Upstairs."

"I'm kinda tired. I'm gonna say hi to him and grab a shower," Angel said.

"Oh. Right," Connor answered, not quite willing to say more.

"Everything okay?" Angel asked, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. "You seem jumpy."

Angel knew guilt when he saw—and sometimes smelled—it, and Connor was oozing it right about now. Connor always oozed a little bit of it, but it was especially strong tonight.

"Um," his boy started eloquently—he got that from his father. "Well, uh, no, Dad. It's just … We've sorta had an interesting day here."

"Explain," Angel said, immediately tense.

Connor sighed and sank down on the couch.

"Don't flip out until I finish telling the story, okay?" he said.

"No promises," Angel replied tersely, joining him.

"Great," Connor murmured.

"Tell."

"Well, earlier today, I sent Spike to his room, see," Connor started, intending to leave out that whole thing about the soap and the bathroom and the phone.

"Why?" Angel asked, not letting him off one bit. "For what?"

"Nothing important," Connor said, brushing it off. "Just some stuff. So anyway..."

"I want the whole story," Angel insisted. "I'll decide what's important."

"Oh, Dad, please," Connor said tiredly. "Please just let me give you the highlights."

"No."

"Fine," Connor sighed, committing himself to a horrible retelling of this horrible day. "Well, see, he wanted to take a bath."

"Great!" Angel interrupted, and then went silent at the look Connor gave him.

"In your bathtub," he continued.

"So?" Angel said. "I don't mind."

"Well, it's just, he sort of made a mess," Connor tried to explain, finding that it really _didn't_ seem like such a big deal now.

"Kids make messes, Connor," Angel said patiently. "It's what they do."

"Yeah, Dad, I know," Connor said defensively. "I said it wasn't important, didn't I?"

"All right. Go on."

"So, he … He put some bubbles in his hair, and he wanted to see what he looked like, so he came to get my phone and take a picture."

"You weren't watching him?" Angel asked with just a hint of edge to his voice.

"Not exactly," Connor said quietly, dropping his gaze to his lap and nervously messing with his fingernails until Angel gently swatted at his hands.

"And?" Angel asked.

"I … I was sort of still asleep," he finally managed. "I hadn't got up yet, and Spike was doing his own thing, I guess, and..."

"Let me guess," Angel interrupted. "Your iPhone ended up swimming with the fishes?"

"Sorta," Connor answered. "I think he just dropped it, and it slid through the water and soap on the floor."

"Ouch," Angel said. "That thing was expensive."

"I know, Dad," Connor grumbled. "I haven't forgotten that you bought it for me..."

"I didn't mean it like that, son," Angel said, patting him on the knee. "I just meant … Those things are expensive."

"Yeah. So that's when I woke up, after he'd broken my phone. And after we got it all cleaned up, I sent him to his room."

"For the whole day?" Angel asked. "That's a little harsh, Connor, don't you think? I'm sure it was an accident..."

"Let me finish," Connor said. "You haven't heard the whole story."

"Oh."

Connor took a deep breath, briefly met Angel's eye, and then let his gaze cut away to any and everything else in the room as he summoned the confidence to continue. Admitting wrongdoing to himself, even partial, unintentional wrongdoing, was just so damn hard. Admitting it to Angel was even worse.

"So, I finished fixing your bathroom, because I know how you are..." he continued.

"What do you mean, 'how I am?'" Angel said defensively.

"Dad," Connor said, giving him a pointed look.

"Okay, fine," Angel mumbled. "Go on."

"I finished cleaning up your bathroom so that you wouldn't kill us, and I was gonna go get Spike so we could … so we could do something together..."

Connor paused to see if Angel would press him for more information on that front, but he didn't. He had almost hoped that he would, because it would delay the rest of the story, but he valiantly pushed on.

"So I went to get him, but he wasn't in his room."

Angel's face darkened considerably, and Connor put a hand on his shoulder and quickly assured him,

"He's fine. He's totally fine. Nothing bad happened."

"Where was he?" Angel asked so softly that even Connor nearly didn't hear it.

"He … Well, I guess there was some kid outside he wanted to play with, and he crawled out the window to meet him," Connor said.

"Sun?" Angel asked, his jaw working overtime.

"Yeah, but it … it wasn't shining there right then, and I guess … I guess he thought he could make it to safety. And he did! He did make it just fine over to under those trees out there, and that's where I found him. Sitting talking to some kid."

Angel simply nodded, and the two of them sat there for a few moments in silence, Connor's anticipatory and Angel's brooding.

"Did you spank him yet?" Angel then asked.

"What?" Connor asked, growing distinctly uncomfortable. "No, not yet. I mean, not at all. I'm not gonna do that."

"You're not?" Angel asked mildly, then turned to look at him more closely. "Why not?"

"Because, Dad," Connor said, blushing furiously for some reason and looking away. "I mean, it's Spike. He _will_ grow up, you know, sooner rather than later. And if I were to do something like that, well, he'd totally kick my ass. Plus, I ... I don't really believe in it."

Never mind the fact that he felt responsible for what had happened, and if he'd gotten his lazy bones out of bed earlier, he could have prevented it all. Who was Angel kidding? Connor wasn't qualified to punish anyone. He felt ten years old himself.

"You don't believe in it?" Angel asked rather incredulously. "I'm pretty sure it really exists."

"You know what I mean," Connor said hotly. "I don't think ... I mean, I don't think it should be used so much, you know?"

Angel simply looked at him with a single raised eyebrow.

"Look, Dad, I'm not judging you," Connor stammered out awkwardly. "And I'm not saying I didn't deserve it every single time you did it—well, almost—I'm just saying that it's not something that I personally would consider doing to my own kid, you know?"

"I didn't know you felt that way," Angel said in surprise.

"Well, Dad, it ... it really hurts," Connor said. "And it's embarrassing."

But not nearly as embarrassing, Connor realized, as this conversation.

"Yes, it is a punishment," Angel agreed, nodding.

"Look, I'm just saying that I have no plans to … to spank him. I know you're old school, so if you want to, fine. I'm certainly not gonna try to stop you. But just know that I did already punish him, sort of. I mean, I made him do some cleaning, and you know how much he hates that."

Angel gave him a look that he couldn't quite discern and got to his feet. Connor suspected that his father didn't consider a little light housekeeping to be much of a punishment, and he expected him to head straight upstairs to administer a more fitting one, but he turned and stalked out toward the back garden instead.

"Dad, what are you doing?" Connor asked with alarm, following Angel out the door to the garden with the sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what his father was doing.

"I'm about to warm his little britches for him, that's what I'm doing," Angel said, his chosen switch already in hand and being stripped smooth.

"Okay, wait," Connor said, holding his hands up beseechingly. "First off, no one says 'britches' anymore. Second off, you can't... I mean you can't _switch_ him, Dad. That shit really fucking hurts."

"Needs to hurt," Angel said sternly, not commenting on Connor's choice of language but giving him a look that clearly said he didn't like it. "It'll teach him not to do it again, won't it?"

"But he's just a little guy," Connor protested. "He doesn't need that. I'm sure he won't do it again."

"Ha," Angel scoffed. "Yeah, right. This is Spike we're talking about. He needs more than a good talking-to to deter him from mischief."

"Dad, it's my fault," Connor insisted. "I'm the one who let it happen. I should have been watching him, but I didn't think. It's at least as much my fault as his."

Angel didn't reply to that. He just tested his implement by swishing it through the air, and Connor flinched. Angel noticed, and smirked slightly.

"I'm guessing from your reaction that this'll get the job done," he commented.

"Dad, don't do this," Connor begged. "He's just a little kid. Don't whip him. If you're gonna do it, just... just use your hand. Believe me, it hurts plenty."

"Relax," Angel said, pushing past Connor and going back inside. "I'm not gonna kill him. Just give him something to show him I'm serious."

Connor huffed, disconcerted, but Angel ignored him and continued straight up to Spike's room.

Spike knew he was in trouble. Angel got a certain look when he was about to dish out "justice." He'd always gotten that same look. Only, before, when he was big, that look had kinda made him happy. He liked to get under Angel's skin. But now, that look only made him feel funny in his stomach.

So when Angel stormed into his room wearing that expression on his face and wielding a wicked looking switch, Spike wasn't at all surprised. Horrified, yes, and more than a little scared, but not surprised. He was, after all, a nineteenth-century boy.

"Please, Papa, I'm really sorry," he said, scooting back toward the headboard of his bed. "I won't do it anymore!"

Angel didn't speak at first. He sat down on Spike's bed and laid the switch aside—for the moment. He looked at the seemingly contrite little boy, who was clutching that toy elephant he'd bought him as if it might protect him, and raised his eyebrows.

"What did I _just_ tell you about going outside?" he finally asked, working hard to keep his voice calm.

"Not to," Spike replied softly.

"You know it's dangerous. You are a smart little boy. So why did you do it?"

Angel couldn't help but wonder if his mentioning it in the first place was what had put the idea into his Will's head. If he hadn't brought it up to begin with, maybe it wouldn't have even occurred to him to go outside. And he'd also put off setting up rules and consequences with the little guy. Maybe if he'd had everything clearly spelled out to him, like Connor had suggested... Maybe it was his fault...

"I just wanted to. So what?" Spike answered sincerely and rather saucily, derailing Angel's current train of thought.

Spike didn't know where his sudden bravado had come from, because he certainly hadn't had it a moment ago, but he felt snappy and defensive and he … well, he just didn't want Angel to think he was stupid just because he'd gone outside.

"You wanted to?" Angel repeated incredulously. "Did you want the sun to burn you to ash? Is that what you wanted?"

"No, I wanted to play!" Spike answered with a petulant pout.

"There's a time for playing, and that wasn't it," Angel replied. "You not only disobeyed me, but from what I understand, you gave Connor a pretty good deal of trouble today, too. Is that right?"

Spike blushed and ducked his head, refusing to answer.

"Connor should have busted your little butt for you right away, but he didn't."

Spike blushed even harder, not having any idea what, if anything, Angel expected him to say to that. So he just remained quiet.

"Come here," Angel said after scrutinizing him for a few long, agonizing moments.

"But I didn't mean to!" Spike blurted out.

"Which part?" Angel asked skeptically.

"I didn't plan to go outside!" Spike said, focusing on what he thought Angel considered to be the greatest offense he'd committed that day.

Angel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before giving him a hard stare.

"Sweetheart, you're making it worse on yourself by lying to me," he said calmly. "There's no need to lie. What's done is done."

"I'm not lyin'!" Spike insisted. "It just happened!"

"It did not 'just happen,'" Angel said sternly, pulling Spike to him and settling him in his lap. "Do you know how I know?"

"How?" Spike asked, his voice small.

"Your door is broken. That would indicate to me that you locked it, and that Connor broke it trying to get in here to see you. Is that right?"

Spike buried his face in Angel's chest so that he wouldn't have to look at him.

"Locking the door indicates pure, premeditated naughtiness to me," Angel continued. "Do you agree?"

Spike didn't want to answer, but Angel shifted him back so that he could no longer hide his face, and he gave his Papa a miserable nod.

"All right," Angel said gently. "Let's get this over with. Put Mr. Elephant down; he's not the one in trouble."

Spike couldn't quite force himself to let go of his toy, but he didn't resist when Angel took it from him and laid it aside.

"No," Spike whispered, but it was definitely more of a plea than an outright refusal.

"William," Angel said warningly.

"Papa," Spike whined.

"Oh, no," Angel said with a short shake of his head. "You're not going to play that card with me and win, not right now. You've got a spankin' coming, and you're not going to get out of it. I can sit here all night if I have to."

Spike sighed. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be one of those token spankings that he'd gotten before. Angel meant to punish him, and Angel was always pretty good at doing that.

"But … But you said you'd never hurt me!" he blurted out, and for a brief moment, felt some hope as a look of uncertainty crossed his Papa's face.

Unfortunately, though, Angel seemed to regain his confidence, because he regarded him evenly and said,

"A spanking stings for awhile, yes. But it won't do you any lasting harm, and it will help you remember to be a good boy."

Since Spike didn't appear to have any other arguments, Angel flipped him face-down over his lap. He raised his hand high, then changed his mind and lowered it considerably before delivering the first firm smack. Spike jumped a little, probably in surprise, but didn't say anything. Angel forced himself to put a tiny bit more force into the next one, and his boy let out a soft yelp as it landed. Three smacks was all it took to turn on the waterworks, and he almost lost his nerve when he heard the tears. He knew he'd swatted him much harder while they were just horsing around, but it must have felt much worse as punishment. It was certainly hurting Angel himself.

"William," he said, stopping and gently patting Spike's back. "What you did today was very dangerous. Do you understand that?"

Spike nodded. His bottom was smarting terribly, and he didn't know why Angel wanted to hold a conversation just now, but he thought he'd better answer him.

"You're getting three with the switch," Angel said slowly, still rubbing his back. "And then it'll all be over with, okay?"

Spike decided not to answer that one, as he figured it didn't really make much difference if it was okay with him or not.

Angel picked up his previously discarded switch, frowned at it—it did look awfully mean—and flicked it down across that upturned little bottom three quick times. Spike wailed and squirmed, but it was over with almost as soon as it had started, and Angel righted him and hugged him close.

"Okay, now. Hush," he murmured as he kissed him all over the top of his head. "You're all right. Hush."

Spike sobbed brokenly into Angel's shirt and hugged his Papa hard around the middle. He wanted to tell him that he'd never be bad again and that he would do everything right from then on, but coherent words were beyond him at the moment. Angel had smacked the naughtiness right out of him, and all he could do was have a satisfying, cathartic cry about it.

" … a very good boy," Angel was saying, and Spike sniffled and tried to listen. "I know it's hard, not being like other kids. But it won't last forever."

"I'll be big again soon," Spike agreed eagerly, taking great breaths to calm himself.

"You sure will," Angel murmured, petting his hair. "But right now, you're my favorite little boy, and I love you very much and don't want you to get hurt by that nasty old sun."

Spike abruptly stopped crying and frowned. Angel noticed the change and glanced down at him questioningly.

"You mustn't say that," he whispered urgently.

"Say what?" Angel asked, confused.

"What you said," Spike said, pulling away from him and reaching back to rub his bottom.

"That you're my favorite little boy and I love you?" Angel asked.

"Yes," Spike whispered, glancing toward the door. "I can't be your favorite. Connor should be your favorite!"

"Oh, sweetheart," Angel said, laughing slightly and wiping Spike's lingering tears away with his thumb. "Of course Connor's my favorite. He's my favorite big boy, and you're my favorite little one."

"He won't like it," Spike mumbled, resting his head on Angel's chest again.

"He won't mind."

"He will."

"He won't," Angel insisted. "And I bet if you asked him about it, he'd say you're _his_ favorite little boy, too."

Spike shook his head doubtfully.

"Not after today, I'm not. I broke his phone."

"Phones can be replaced. Naughty little boys who burn up in the sunlight cannot."

Spike took a deep breath and remained quiet while he thought that one over.

"I should offer to do something for him," he finally said. "To help pay him back."

"That is a very nice idea, and I'm sure he'd appreciate the gesture," Angel said approvingly. "In fact, you can bring it up here in a little while. We're going to have a family meeting."

"A what?" Spike asked, not liking the sound of that.

"A family meeting," Angel repeated. "We need to go over some rules."

"Oh," he said quietly. "Because of me?"

"Because of all of us," Angel answered. "But first, do you feel better now?"

Spike nodded. His bottom stung a little, but it wasn't unbearable, and since Angel didn't seem all that angry, he felt pretty okay.

"Good. Then let's get you cleaned up and into your jammies before we go downstairs."

Spike gave him a rather sheepish look and considered mentioning that he'd already had a bath today, but he didn't want to bring that up just in case Angel didn't already know all the details.

"Where are we goin'?" he asked as Angel picked him up and carried him down the hall.

"My room," Angel said with a smile. "I hear you like my bathtub more."

Spike stood shyly by while Angel ran him a bath. His Papa didn't think to put bubbles in it, but he certainly wasn't going to ask for them, not after the way he'd behaved. Spike noticed that Angel stopped the water long before he would have, but that was okay, too. It was still a lot deeper than he was used to, and it still looked like fun.

"All right," Angel said. "In you go. I'll be back in a few minutes to help you, okay?"

"Where are you going?" Spike asked.

"Papa's gonna go talk to Uncle Connor for a minute," Angel said, pulling Spike's shirt over his head.

He reached for his jeans, but Spike pulled away.

"I can do it myself," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Oh. Okay, buddy. Sure," Angel said, tousling his hair. "If you need me, just yell."

Spike nodded and waited for Angel to leave before stripping and plunging himself into the tub. He looked over the side to see if he'd gotten a bunch of water in the floor, but there was only a little this time.

Angel stopped back by Spike's room and retrieved his switch before heading down to the lobby to speak with his favorite big boy.


	16. Chapter 16

Connor couldn't have looked more miserable, Angel was sure of it. It made him want to give his son a great big hug, so that's exactly what he did. Connor let him wrap his arms around him, but he didn't return the embrace.

"Can't believe you went through with it," he mumbled, resting his chin in his hands, with his elbows propped up on his knees.

"He'll live," Angel said.

"I heard him crying," Connor spat accusingly.

"He'll live," Angel repeated, patting Connor on the knee as he sat down beside him. "I promise."

Connor glanced from the switch in Angel's hand to his father's face and then stared back at the floor.

"You know, you're taking this much harder than the little boy upstairs," Angel commented lightly.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"It's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Connor," Angel said.

"It is my fault. I should have been watching him."

"You couldn't watch him every second of the day, not even if you tried. He knew what he did was wrong, yet he did it anyway. That isn't your fault."

"Yeah, it is, Dad." He couldn't help staring at the switch again, and he knew Angel noticed. "My turn, I guess."

"Son..." Angel said, unsure where he was even going with the rest of the sentence.

"I'm as guilty as he is," Connor insisted. "I should get the same treatment."

"Connor..."

"You wouldn't have brought that thing down here with you if you didn't think so, too," Connor commented sullenly.

"I'm not gonna punish you, son," Angel said, snapping that horrid switch in two. "I just wanted to let you know that we're going to have a family meeting as soon as I get Will out of the bath."

Connor groaned, and Angel raised his eyebrows at him.

"Sorry."

"We need to do that rule thing you were talking about," Angel continued.

"So... You admit I was right?" Connor asked. "And you were wrong?"

"Don't push your luck," Angel answered dryly, looking down at the twigs in his hand. "I could probably put this thing back together."

"Shutting up now," Connor replied, trying to hide his grin.

"I'm gonna go get the little man into his pajamas," Angel said as he stood.

"Shoot!" Connor hissed.

"What's the matter?"

"I forgot... I put his pajamas in the wash earlier, and I forgot to dry that stuff. Sorry. I fail at life."

"You do not fail at life," Angel said. "It's fine. I'll get him something of mine to wear."

"Sorry, Dad. I'm gonna go toss those clothes into the dryer. My bad."

"Stop apologizing, Connor, geez," Angel said lightly. "See you in a minute."

Angel shook his head before returning upstairs. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure if he'd intended to punish Connor or not. In the end, it wasn't necessary, because his son could punish himself with the best of them.

* * *

If Spike sat very still in the tub, his arms would float up to just under the surface of the water. He tried to do his legs that way at the same time, but ended up falling backwards and making a splash and spilling more water over the side. Of course, no sooner had he done that than he heard Angel approaching.

"Hey, pal," Angel greeted him, seemingly oblivious to the puddles on the floor. "You want me to wash your hair for you?"

Angel reached for his purple bottle, the one Spike knew for a fact was empty, and Spike couldn't help it. He began to cry.

"What's the matter?" Angel asked, shaking the bottle, puzzled. "What's upsetting you?"

"I put all that stuff in the water earlier!" Spike admitted tearfully, nodding at the shampoo bottle.

"Oh," Angel said, frowning slightly. "That's why it's empty, I guess. That's nothing to cry over, though, now is it?"

Spike shook his head uncertainly as Angel reached for a different bottle of shampoo.

"I'll tell you a secret," Angel said in a soft, conspiratorial voice that made Spike sit up at attention. "Papa uses too much stuff on his hair, anyway."

Spike grinned. He didn't think that was much of a secret. He was pretty sure that anyone who ever met Angel could tell that.

"Here. Close your eyes," Angel directed as he held the shampoo over Spike's head.

Angel put what even Spike could tell was an absurd amount of shampoo in his hair and lathered it up for him.

"Why don't you show me what you did earlier," Angel suggested. "With your hair."

Spike was suddenly embarrassed and didn't want to fashion his hair into points for Angel. He stared shyly down into the water and looked at his quickly wrinkling fingers.

"You don't want to?" Angel asked, and Spike shook his head.

"Okay, champ. That's fine," Angel said. "I'll just have to see what I can do myself."

Spike giggled as Angel pretended to be a hairdresser, using words such as, "You look _mahhvelous, dahhling_," and combed through his hair with his fingers. Once Angel had finished, he pulled out his own phone from his pocket and took a picture, which he turned around so that Spike could see.

"Pretty good," Spike assessed. "But mine was better."

That earned him a tickle attack, and by the time all the thrashing around was over, Spike was sure there was more water on the floor than there was left in the tub. Angel still didn't seem to care, though, because he didn't even mention it. He just made him rinse his hair out, and then he got a big fluffy towel and wrapped him in it before carrying him into the main part of the bedroom.

"Will," Angel said conversationally as he planted the little boy in his lap and began to towel-dry his hair.

"What?" Spike asked.

"Are you mad at me for spanking you?"

"No, Papa. It doesn't hurt anymore," Spike answered.

Angel wondered if he should point out that that wasn't exactly what he'd asked, but then he realized the answers might be one and the same to Spike.

"You sure?" he said instead.

"Yes. Are you mad at me?"

"No. I was upset because you disobeyed me and did something dangerous, something you knew very well not to do. But I'm not mad at you."

"Sorry, Papa," Spike said quietly.

"Connor's feeling kinda down," Angel confided in his little man. "When we talk to him, maybe you could try to cheer him up."

"Why's he sad?" Spike asked.

"He thinks he let us both down today," Angel replied, sitting Spike on the bed and going to his dresser.

"Are you mad at him?" Spike asked.

"No," Angel answered.

"He said you'd be mad at both of us, and give us both a 'whuppin'," Spike informed him.

Angel smiled and rolled his eyes. That sounded like Connor.

"You're really not mad that I used all your shampoo as bubble bath?" Spike asked carefully.

"I can get more," Angel said, pulling a red satin shirt from a drawer and shaking the wrinkles out of it.

"So … So..." Spike started, fidgeting and trying to find the right words. "Even though I was bad, you still like me? I'm still your favorite?"

"Of course," Angel said enthusiastically. "I said you were, didn't I?"

Spike nodded, then gave Angel a curious look as he approached him holding out that huge shirt.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Hold up your arms," Angel instructed. "Your pjs are in the wash, so you're gonna have to make do with some of mine."

Angel watched as Spike obediently lifted up his arms and let him drop the slippery shirt down over him. He didn't know what he had expected—a protest, maybe—but Spike seemed utterly delighted by the new duds and held his arms straight out in front of him, marveling at how his hands didn't even reach all the way to the cuffs and the fabric fell almost to his feet.

"Get that towel off and get some underpants on," Angel said.

"Okay," Spike said absently, picking up the hem of the shirt and bringing it to his face.

"What are you doing?" Angel asked with amusement.

"Smelling it."

"Why?"

"It smells like you," Spike said simply.

"Oh," Angel said uncomfortably. "I'm sorry."

"No, I like it," Spike insisted. "You smell good, Papa! You've always smelled good."

"Well, thanks, pal," Angel said, picking him up off the bed and letting the towel fall to the floor before he deposited Spike on his feet. "Underwear. Go."

He propelled him toward the door with a playful tap on the bottom, and Spike scurried from the room to finish dressing.

* * *

"I look good, don't I?" Spike asked Connor as he did a little twirl for him and let the red satin shirt billow out around him.

"Is that Dad's?" Connor asked.

"Yeah, but do you think he'd let me have it?" Spike asked, admiring the buttons down the front.

"I don't know."

"What if I spilled something on it? Surely he'd not want it then."

Connor laughed.

"No, do _not_ spill anything on it," he instructed. "Just ask him."

"I dunno," Spike said, hopping up into Connor's lap and laying his head on his chest. "Maybe."

"You all right?" Connor asked gently, petting his hair with one hand and rubbing his back with the other.

"Yeah. But I got smacked."

"I heard."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

Spike shrugged, and Connor couldn't help but feel envious at how nonchalant his little friend was about it all. This didn't look like a little boy who'd recently been in trouble. Maybe he should have made him clean more bathtubs... No, no. Connor shook his head to clear it of the childish, resentful thoughts.

"Did it hurt?" he asked.

"Yeah, a lot!" Spike said, nodding enthusiastically.

"But you're okay?" Connor checked.

"Yeah. And Angel said I'm still his favorite, even though I was bad."

"You can't be his favorite," Connor said immediately, and Spike feared the worst, that he had been right and Connor would be upset about what Angel said.

"Why?" he asked warily.

"Because," Connor said resolutely, tapping him on the nose. "You're _my_ favorite."

"Oh."

Spike lifted himself up and hugged Connor hard around the neck before settling back down in his lap.

"Sorry about your phone," he said sadly. "That was a dumb thing I did. I didn't mean to drop it. I know I shouldn't have taken it."

"Yeah, it does suck," Connor agreed, wondering if Spike was going to inform him that he was not allowed to say "sucks," but he didn't. "Next time, all you have to do is ask me first. Okay?"

"Okay," Spike said.

"All right, guys," Angel said, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, Dad," Connor said.

Angel sat down across from his boys and cleared his throat awkwardly as they expectantly peered back at him. A "family meeting" had seemed like such a good idea half an hour ago, but now he wasn't so sure. What was he supposed to say? How did he begin? Should he have brought a gavel or something to officially call the meeting to order? Would that have been pretentious?

"Um..." he said, faltering.

"No going outside without permission, ever," Connor said for him, gazing down sternly at the little Spike still snuggled up in his arms.

"Okay," Spike said sheepishly.

"I mean it," Connor continued. "You pull something like that again, and I'll call Papa right away and let him come home and deal with you the way he sees fit. Understood?"

"Okay, Connor," Spike replied hotly, feeling his face flush red. "I won't."

Angel grinned slightly at his son, who was still glaring down at Spike's head. Spike was playing with the buttons on his shirt and chewing on his bottom lip.

"We're not trying to scare you," Angel added.

"I am," Connor corrected. "If you're not scared enough already, we can take a walk out back so you can see all the switches in the garden."

"Connor," Angel admonished softly.

"What, Dad?" he asked. "You get to be all tough, but I don't? He's my best friend and I don't want him to get himself hurt doing something stupid like he did today."

"I'm not stupid," Spike mumbled, pulling his legs inside Angel's shirt and protectively hugging his knees to him. "I just wanted to play with Tommy."

"Tommy?" Connor asked.

Of course. He hadn't given that other boy a single thought since unceremoniously running him off the lawn.

"Yeah," Spike said, nodding enthusiastically. "Tommy's eight, and he likes basketball and chicken strips and hockey, and he goes to grammar school and he has a mum but no dad and... And I guess that's all I know, really."

"Maybe we could find Tommy and invite him over to play sometime," Angel suggested. "_Inside._"

"He'll never come back now," Spike said sullenly, kicking one foot out and letting it bounce up and down off Connor's leg. "Connor screamed at him."

"I did not," Connor said defensively. "I only told him to go home."

"Yeah, but you said it real mean," Spike argued. "I wouldn't want to come back, either, if you made that face at me."

Angel thought the look on Connor's face now was pretty priceless, but as Spike was doing his best not to make eye contact, he didn't see it.

"Well," Angel said, hoping to move on. "I'll see about finding Tommy, okay?"

"Okay," Spike agreed. "But leave the other two at home."

"The other two?" Connor asked. "There was only one kid out there with you."

"Yeah, by the time you got there," Spike replied.

"So you were outside long enough for two other kids to leave?" Connor asked, his tone suddenly dangerous and warning.

"I … It wasn't that long, though," Spike said, pulling himself out of Connor's grasp and crossing over to crawl into Angel's lap instead. "Honest, Connor. They left straight away!"

"It's all right," Angel said soothingly, rubbing Spike's back but looking over his head at his son. "Everything turned out all right. But there's not going to be a repeat of the incident. Are we all clear on that?"

"Yes, Papa," Spike said dutifully.

Connor nodded, and swept his hand toward Angel to invite him to continue his little meeting.

"Okay," Angel said. "I think what happened today warrants another little talk. Will, you have to mind Connor just like you mind me. If I'm not here, he's in charge, and if he tells you to do something—or not to do something—you have to obey him. If you don't, he has my full support to discipline you, and you have to take what comes without arguing. You understand?"

"Yeah," Spike muttered, glancing rather hatefully up at Connor, but only for a second.

Angel noticed, but Connor didn't, and he decided to let it slide this once.

"What else?" Angel asked his son.

"Well, I think it would be a good idea if we didn't run so much in the house," Connor said, looking pointedly at his father. "All of us."

"Fine," Angel sighed. "We won't run in the house … so much."

"And I think Spike should have a set bedtime..."

"What!" Spike said indignantly. "How come?"

"I just think it'd be a good idea if you were in bed before dawn, that's all," Connor said. "Trust me, you'll feel better if you're not so inconsistent on sleep."

"Maybe you should have a set getting up time," Spike mumbled bitterly.

"Hey!" Angel admonished, tapping him on the leg. "Don't speak to Uncle Connor like that. You use that tone again and you're going to be in trouble, do you hear me?"

Spike didn't reply, but Connor shook his head to indicate that it was all right.

"Maybe I should," he agreed. "I think that's fair. How about you have to be in bed by 3 A.M. and I have to be up by 10 A.M.? Does that sound all right?"

"How come you get to set your own time and I don't?" Spike asked argumentatively.

Connor was about to open his mouth and ask him what time he thought he should go to bed, but Angel frowned and answered for him.

"Because you are a little boy. What did I just say about listening to Uncle Connor? I don't know where this attitude is coming from, but you'd best be losing it unless you want another warm-up."

"No," Spike said, turning and pressing his face into Angel's shirt.

"No, you won't lose the attitude, or no, you don't want another spanking?" Angel asked, and Connor rolled his eyes. His dad was forever asking him ridiculous questions like that, too.

"I'll be good," Spike answered quietly.

"That's my sweet boy!" Angel said gently, dropping a kiss on his head. "We're not trying to embarrass you or ruin your night. We just love you very much, and Papa made a mistake in not setting up a few rules earlier. You need rules to keep you safe—we all do. Can you understand that?"

Spike sighed and nodded into Angel's chest. It had been a long day and was nowhere near his newly imposed bedtime, but he found he was really worn out and a little bit achy.

"I'm tired, Papa," he whined.

"Okay, pal. Me too," Angel said. "I think that's enough rules for now, don't you? But if we need to add more later on, we will, got it? Good. How about you let me grab a shower and then I'll read to you for a little while, okay?"

"Okay, Papa," Spike said.

"Is there anything else anyone would like to add before we end our meeting?" Angel offered.

Connor shook his head, and Spike didn't reply at all, figuring the comment hadn't been directed at him.

"Will?" Angel prompted. "Anything to say?"

"Oh," he said, remembering what he'd thought up earlier. "I'm sorry about your phone, Connor."

"I told you it's all right," Connor interrupted.

"No, I just … I'll do whatever you want to make it up to you. I..."

Spike had to pause to let a humongous yawn escape. He shook his head to clear it and started again.

"I can do your chores or whatever, if you want..."

Connor got to his feet and ruffled Spike's hair.

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" he said. "I think we're all tired. Meeting adjourned, Mr. Angel?"

Angel rolled his eyes and told Mr. Connor that yes, their first weekly family meeting could be adjourned. Connor frowned slightly at that word "weekly," but didn't comment. Spike didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care. His eyes were shut, but he sleepily murmured that he still wanted to hear a story, and argued that he could stay awake long enough for Angel to take a bath.

"All right," Angel conceded. "I'll take you to my room, and you can lie on my bed for a few minutes while I get cleaned up, okay?"

Spike murmured a reply that Angel took in the affirmative, and he scooped him up in his arms to carry him upstairs.

"Here, Dad, I'll take him," Connor offered. "I'll get him ready for bed while you do your thing."

"Thanks, Connor," Angel said, patting first Spike and then his son on the head.

Connor carried the little boy upstairs and roused him from his sleepy state enough to have him brush both sets of his teeth before he took him to Angel's room and deposited him on his father's bed. Spike immediately pulled a pillow close to snuggle, and Connor started to leave, but his friend's tiny voice stopped him.

"Papa can read to you, too," he offered without opening his eyes. "He's real good at it."

"Oh," Connor said. "That's … That's a good idea. Maybe I'll stay."

Connor crawled onto Angel's bed and lay down beside Spike. When Angel emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later, he found them both fast asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Spike awoke against his will with a long sigh, but he didn't feel like opening his eyes. He didn't feel like doing anything. His whole body ached from his head to his toes. Was it the flu? Could vampires even get the flu? He rolled over and was forced to open his eyes when his body unexpectedly made contact with something.

"Connor!" he exclaimed, alarmed and protectively pulling the covers up around him. "What are you doing in my bleedin' bed!"

"What?" Connor murmured sleepily. "Spike?"

"Yes, I'm bloody well Sp... My voice! Connor, my voice! I'm better!"

That woke Connor right up, and he sat bolt upright to take stock of the situation.

"I'm grown! I'm grown!" Spike cried happily, bouncing up and down gleefully. "Why... Why are you looking at me like that?"

Spike wasn't grown. He wasn't six anymore, but he definitely wasn't grown. Connor figured he probably shouldn't be so surprised by this turn of events, but it wasn't every day that he fell asleep next to a sleepy-eyed little boy and woke up next to a bright-eyed teenager. It was … disconcerting.

"Um..." he said, uncertain how Spike might react to the news.

"What?" Spike asked suspiciously.

"You... Uh..."

"Out with it, mate," Spike said, and his voice cracked on the last word.

He put an astonished hand to his neck and cleared his throat a little.

"Mate," he repeated, but it again came out in a squeak. "Mate! Mate! Oh, bugger bloody all!"

Connor tried, he tried very hard, but he couldn't force the corners of his mouth to turn down into a sympathetic frown. He gave a short laugh and had to roll off the bed to avoid Spike's teenage, hormonal wrath.

"What do I look like?" he demanded, the pitch of his voice going up and down at random. "Show me!"

"I would, but someone broke my phone yesterday," Connor said flatly, finding himself much less forgiving when the culprit was an irritable teen.

"Bloody tell me, you git!" Spike demanded, all traces of that sweet little repentant William gone. "I'll break more than your phone if you don't tell me quick!"

Connor frowned at the threat and answered coolly,

"You're probably about thirteen."

"Thirteen," Spike repeated hollowly. "Thirteen. In years?"

"No, in months," Connor snapped. "Of course in years. Is that about when you … when your voice changed?"

"That blasted Harmony!" Spike raged, ignoring the question and wadding Angel's covers up in both fists. "This is all her fault! I'll find her and I'll … I'll..."

Spike couldn't seem to think of a fate dreadful enough for Harmony, so he jumped from the bed to storm about the room. He stopped short, however, when he realized what he was wearing.

"Yeah. It's Dad's," Connor said with a sort of satisfied amusement, folding his arms over his chest to watch the impending tantrum unfold.

"I know whose it is," Spike spat hatefully as his face flushed a dark red. "I didn't lose my memories. Only one of us around here's ever done that."

Connor was kind of offended, but under the circumstances, he thought it best to just let the comment go.

"Where is Pa... Angel?" Spike asked, immediately trying to cover up his slip.

"I dunno," Connor answered. "I guess we kept him out of his own bed last night."

"Angel!" Spike called, stomping out the door and down the stairs. "Angel! Angel!"

"Spike?" Angel called back from the kitchen. "That you?"

"Who else would it be?" he said insolently as he shoved the door open with enough force to bring it back into his own face. He grimaced and tried to pretend like he'd meant to do that.

"Oh," Angel said, his expression unreadable as he looked him up and down. "You're … Uh …"

"Still broken," Spike finished for him. "Give me your phone. I want to call Willow and I want to do it right now."

"Just hold on a minute," Angel said. "You need to calm down before you do anything. And let me get a look at you."

Spike huffed and pulled at Angel's stupid red night shirt, trying to tug it down to at least reach his knees. If he didn't know for a fact that he currently sported underwear that was about a hundred sizes too small, he'd have removed the satin disaster already. He felt ridiculous standing there on display like that, like an animal in a zoo... Like an experiment in a lab. He made known his displeasure by crossing his arms over his chest and rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently.

"Does it hurt?" Angel asked gently.

"A little," Spike said honestly. "My muscles ache. But I can handle it."

"Here, let me see," Angel said, reaching out to take him by the arm.

"No," Spike said, taking a step back. "I'm fine."

"Just let me look you over," Angel protested.

"No!" Spike shouted. "I said leave me alone!"

Spike did a sudden about-face and ran out of the room, leaving Angel standing there confused and a little hurt by the rejection. He'd grown used to that loving little boy who lived there, but this kid... This kid was angry and hormonal and clearly didn't want anything to do with him—a lot like grown-up Spike. Or, perhaps worse, like having Connor fresh from Quor-toth all over again.

"Hey, Dad," Connor greeted as he casually entered the kitchen.

"Did you see..."

"Yeah. Something, huh?"

"Yeah," Angel agreed. "Willow didn't say it would happen this way. I thought … I guess I thought he'd just wake up and be Spike again."

"He's always been Spike," Connor said around a mouthful of dry cereal. "Just littler."

"Yeah."

Though he'd feared it would likely happen all at once, Angel had secretly hoped that Will would grow back into himself slowly. It wouldn't have bothered him one bit if he'd taken, oh, twenty years to do it in. They had the time.

"I wasn't ready," Angel admitted to his son.

"No one's ever ready for teenagers," Connor answered simply, draining a cup of the coffee that Angel had made. "Especially not … you know, teenagers."

"What do you mean?" Angel asked.

"Being that age sucks, Dad," Connor said, as if it should be obvious. "Don't you remember?"

"Not exactly," Angel confessed. "I really don't."

Connor rolled his eyes.

"When you're thirteen, you're not a little kid anymore. But you're not exactly an adult, either. And your brain, half the time it wants to do kid stuff—and then adults tell you that you're too old to act like that. But then, if you try to act grown up, you inevitably get told to 'go play' or something else completely degrading like that."

"I see," Angel said, really trying to see. "So, we should treat him as an adult now? That'll make it easier on him?"

"Not at all," Connor answered. "Nothing is going to make this easier on him. Or us."

"I was afraid of that."


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you for the gazillion reviews of the last chapter! For those of you who are missing little William already, don't fear. I miss him, too. But our guys can still have some sweet moments with a teenage terror... right? Right? No? Uh oh._

* * *

Spike tore down the last of his stupid tiny clothes and threw them onto the stupid floor. He hated everything. And he truly meant _everything_. How could there not be one single solitary piece of his own clothing left in this closet, anything at all that might halfway fit his body? Surely he hadn't taken everything he'd owned with him when he'd left. Angel must have done something with his clothes. It had to be Angel's fault. It was always Angel's fault.

Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, and he let one or two roll down his cheeks before angrily brushing them away. What was he supposed to do, wear Angel's red shirt all day? Had no one even bothered to think of the clothing situation yet? They didn't care enough about him to offer him anything decent to wear? A pair of trousers, for heaven's sake? They were probably in the kitchen talking about him and laughing at his misfortune right now. God, he hated everyone!

Spike threw himself face-first onto his bed to sulk, and had to shift around when something was poking him in the ribcage. He reached underneath him and retrieved the offending object, a little toy stuffed elephant. _His_ toy elephant. That Angel had bought him. Angel probably thought that was funny, taking him to the toy store like that and watching him enjoy himself there. Git. Spike hatefully threw the toy across the room and watched as its stupid little elephant head thumped against the dresser, only to be overcome immediately by a surge of guilt for treating his inanimate friend that way. After all, it wasn't _his_ fault. He crossed the room and picked it up, and while he didn't quite want to bring it back to the bed with him, he felt that it deserved a better fate than floor debris, so he set it in a place of honor on top of his dresser.

"Hey," Connor interrupted, making him jump guiltily and snatch his hand away from the elephant's trunk.

"Can't you knock?" Spike spat.

"You never do," Connor replied easily.

Sullen teenager was something that Connor knew a thing or two about. Not only had he been one himself, but he'd also had one for a little sister until very recently. So if Spike thought he could ruffle his feathers with only a sarcastic comment or two, he had another think coming. Connor could snark with the best.

"What do you want?" Spike grumbled.

"I brought you some clothes," Connor answered, handing the bundle out to him.

"Whose are they?" Spike asked, as if he didn't plan to take them no matter whose they were, provided they were big enough.

"Mine," Connor said. "Until we can get you some of your own."

Spike laid the clothing out on his bed, and just as he'd suspected, it consisted of the dorkiest things that Connor could have possibly picked out for him. He flushed an uncomfortable, embarrassed red when he saw that Connor had also brought him boxer shorts.

"I don't want these," he said, pointing at them but refusing to touch them.

"You have some that'll fit?" Connor asked doubtfully.

Spike found himself getting angry. Was Connor implying that he should be able to fit into the same underwear as a six-year-old? He wasn't that skinny, was he? Sure, he didn't have a whole lot of muscles, not yet—he'd sneaked a moment to check—but normally he was chiseled and firm to the max. Connor probably thought he was really clever, making jokes at his expense like that.

"I'm not wearing your underwear!" he insisted, hugging his arms around his chest and glaring toward the bed.

"Well, you're not wearing my jeans without my underwear," Connor retorted. "Believe it or not, I did bring you clean clothes, as I do know how to do laundry."

"I've seen you do laundry," Spike muttered.

"Oh yeah?" Connor asked. "'Cuz I'm not sure I've ever see _you_ do any."

"When can we go buy me something better?" Spike asked, ignoring the criticism.

"I don't know," Connor answered, ignoring in kind Spike's opinion of his clothes. "Dad didn't say."

"Did you ask him?" Spike pressed.

"Yeah, I brought it up," Connor said. "But he said he doesn't know yet. He's going to be busy today, so it might have to wait."

"Why?" Spike asked, his voice rising three indignant octaves.

"Because Dad said," Connor answered simply.

While "because Dad said" might have been a perfectly fine reason for Connor, Spike found it entirely lacking, and he turned a look of disgust on his old pal before enunciating slowly,

"You have a car. Why can't _you_ take me?"

"_Be-cause_," Connor repeated just as slowly and deliberately, "Dad said."

"I don't want Angel helping me pick out clothes," Spike said urgently.

"I promise I'll go with you guys," Connor said. "Okay?"

"You'll just go along with whatever he says!" Spike continued. "And you've seen how he dresses!"

Connor stifled a laugh and told Spike that he doubted Angel would force him to wear leather pants any time soon, a comment which made Spike bristle with anger before forcefully shoving his stupid, unfunny "uncle" toward the door with the command to "_Get out!_"

"Hey!" Connor said sternly, catching Spike around the wrist and holding on a moment before letting him loose. "I know you're upset, but we're not going to act that way. If you can ask me again, _nicely_, to leave, then I'll consider doing so without grounding you until you're grown."

Spike's whole body tensed, along with his brain. Who did Connor think he was? He wasn't his father. He wasn't even really his uncle! He wasn't anything at all to him, and he had no right to punish him.

The two locked eyes long enough for Spike to determine whether or not Connor was serious, and he didn't like the answer he got. He dropped his gaze and gave Connor's clothes a loathsome glare from under his eyelashes before mumbling softly,

"May I please be alone so I can get dressed?"

"That's better," Connor said with approval. "And yes, you may."

Spike immediately crossed the floor to lock the door behind Connor, only to recall with dismay that his lock was broken. How was he supposed to get dressed with no lock on the door? He didn't want people just barging in there. He needed his privacy. He looked around for something to shove in front of the door, but couldn't find anything suitable, so he picked up a few items from his pile of hand-me-downs and brought them over to the door. He would stand there and get dressed, and if anyone tried to come in, he would just shove the door closed on them. That would work.

Connor waited until he knew he was out of earshot before heaving a long, tired sigh. Okay, so maybe Spike had ruffled his feathers just a little bit. But it was nothing he couldn't handle. Angel, on the other hand … Connor had a feeling he needed to keep old-fashioned Angel and modern-teen Spike away from each other as much as possible. If Spike had spoken that way to his father, Connor thought that Angel would have literally ripped him in half.

Meanwhile, Spike was having similar thoughts in his room.

As soon as he'd thrown on some clothes, he stood stock still and listened for footfalls on the stairs. Connor would have told on him by now, and Angel was due at any moment to bluster and threaten … and hopefully not do more than that. He rubbed a hand absently over his bottom as he recalled the previous day's exploits, and then promptly stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing. There were no incoming footsteps to be heard and no reason to fear that it was going to happen again. And besides, it hadn't hurt.

He lay down on his bed and rubbed at his wrist where Connor had grabbed it. It didn't hurt either, exactly, but if he thought about it just the right way, he could still feel the impressions where Connor's fingers had been, and that gave him just enough fuel to continue to be unhappy about it. He tried not to think about the silly striped shirt he was wearing, or heaven forbid, the used underwear. They would take him soon to get some things of his own. They had to.

"Dad, I think we need to make that trip to the mall," Connor said, pushing open the kitchen door. "Like, now. Dad?"

Angel was gone, but he'd left a note on the table. Connor frowned down at it for several seconds before leaning over to read it.

_Had to go out. Got an important call while you were upstairs. Be home soon. Call if you need me._

_Love, Dad_

So that was how Angel was going to play this, was it? He was going to run?

Connor shook his head even though there was no one there to see it. He poured some blood into Spike's Sex Pistols mug and heated it up for him; he knew the kid must be starving even though he hadn't said anything. Connor remembered always being hungry at that age—and Connor also remembered the nightmare of never having enough food to fill his stomach.

He trekked back up the stairs and tapped gently on Spike's broken door before pushing it open. Spike lay there, supposedly asleep with a pillow over his eyes, but Connor knew he was faking. That was okay. He set the mug down with a pointed thump on the kid's nightstand, pinched him playfully on the side—which got no reaction whatsoever—and closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

It was going to be a long day.


	19. Chapter 19

_Naughty language and pouty faces lie ahead. You've been warned._

* * *

After taking care of a few things and putting it off as long as he wanted to, and longer than his father deserved, Connor angrily mashed Angel's number into the hotel's piece of crap cordless. He really needed to make a trip to the cell phone place soon. He was starting to have withdrawal.

"Dad, what the hell?" he asked without pretense when Angel finally answered.

"What's up?" Angel said nonchalantly.

"Ohhh no," Connor said. "Don't you dare ask me what's up. You don't get to just take off like that and then act like you didn't do anything wrong."

"What are you talking about, Connor?" Angel asked. "Didn't you see my note?"

"I saw it, all right," Connor hissed into the phone. "But it may as well have read, 'Running away from my problems nao, kthanxbai.'"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Angel said defensively. "I told you I got a call."

"Well, you're getting another one right now telling you to get your ass home," Connor snapped.

"I can't just leave right now, Connor," Angel said. "I'm kinda in the middle of something here. You can handle things for awhile, can't you?"

"Yeah, that turned out just _great_ last time," Connor grumbled.

"He's a big boy now," Angel said dismissively. "I'm sure he won't give you any trouble."

"Wow," Connor said, running his free hand through his hair. "You just … Did you never even _flip through_ a parenting book after I was born? He's like, thirteen! They're the worst!"

"I gotta go, son," Angel said suddenly. "I'll be home soon."

Connor pushed the talk button as hard as he could without breaking something inside the damn phone. His own father, a coward, afraid of a teenage boy. Of course, he'd been a teenage boy once, and had welded Angel into a metal coffin before submerging him into the Pacific, so maybe his dad's reservations weren't completely unfounded.

Connor was so caught up in mentally swearing at his father that he hadn't even heard Spike come down the stairs, so it was quite a shock for him when he looked up and found him mere feet away, watching him intently.

"Hey," he said, trying to act like he hadn't been startled at all.

"You don't want to be here with me," Spike accused, sporting a gloomy scowl.

"Oh, hush," Connor said. "That's not the case at all."

He didn't know how much Spike had heard of his end of the conversation, but he really, really hoped he hadn't heard that part about him being "the worst."

"You want something else to eat?" he asked.

Spike shrugged.

"You don't know?" Connor asked.

Spike shrugged.

"Are you still hungry?" Connor asked.

Spike shrugged.

Connor thought he understood, at that very moment, why his mother hated shrugging so much.

"Where's your dad?" Spike asked.

"He had to go out and handle a case," Connor said, praying Spike couldn't hear the doubt in his voice. "He said he'll be home soon."

"Do you know Willow's number?" Spike asked. "I want to call her."

"Sorry, I don't," Connor said, giving Spike a shrug of his own. "You can ask Dad about that when he gets home, okay?"

"Can't you ask him for me?" Spike implored hopefully. "Please?"

"You don't need to be afraid to ask him," Connor said gently. "He won't mind."

"Not afraid of him," Spike mumbled, sinking down onto the next-to-last step and leaning his head against the banister railing. "Just don't wanna. I already asked him once, and he said no."

Connor joined him on the stairs and patted him on the leg.

"You feel all right?" he asked. "Got any growing pains?"

"'M fine," Spike murmured.

"Well … What do you want to do today, then?" Connor asked brightly.

"I don't know," Spike said listlessly. "I don't even have any shoes."

"Oh," Connor said. "We can fix that. You can have some of mine."

Spike glanced down at Connor's feet and then gave him a dubious look.

"Your feet are too big," he pointed out accusingly.

"Flip flops!" Connor answered. "They should do until we get out to get you some."

"I hate flip flops," Spike mumbled. "They're completely stupid looking."

"They are not," Connor said. "Everyone in California wears flip flops. Everyone in this whole country, in fact."

"They do not," Spike mumbled, turning his face back toward the banister.

Connor let a frustrated sigh escape and was rewarded with Spike scooting as far away from him as he could without actually getting up to flee.

"Oh, stop that," Connor admonished lightly. "C'mere."

He put an arm around Spike's shoulders and pulled him into a sideways hug that wasn't returned.

"Sorry I shoved you," Spike whispered after a moment. "I … I don't know."

"Hey, it's okay," Connor said, squeezing him tighter. "I was a kid not too long ago. I know how it feels. Just … Don't do that to Angel, okay?"

Spike snorted.

"He'd kill me!"

"He probably wouldn't _kill _you," Connor replied. "But he … well, just don't do it to Angel."

Spike allowed himself to lean into Connor's hug for a split second before he pulled himself free and got to his feet. After he'd done that, though, he didn't know where to go from there, so he stood awkwardly in the middle of the lobby, looking around at all the things there and feigning interest as if seeing them for the first time.

Connor gave him a knowing smile.

"I'll get you some more food," he offered, already on his way to the kitchen to do so.

After some shoes and his second mug of blood, Spike felt in slightly better spirits. He still wasn't happy about the clothing situation, not at all, and he didn't see why Connor couldn't just take him to the mall instead of making him wear a green and yellow striped atrocity and dark purple flip flops. But he thought that if he mentioned it again so soon, it might piss Connor off, and he didn't want that. Not when Connor was obviously trying so hard to be nice to him.

"So, how do you feel?" Connor asked awkwardly after Spike had finished his food and they seemingly had nothing more to say to each other.

"Fine," Spike murmured.

"I'll have to get you a belt," Connor noted.

"What?" Spike asked.

"Those jeans are a little big," Connor explained. "It wouldn't do for you to be walking and have them fall right off your ass, now would it?"

Spike grinned a little in spite of himself.

"I know, I know," Connor said. "I'm not allowed to say 'ass.'"

Spike shrugged.

"Oh, it's okay now?" Connor asked with a wry grin. "Good. That's a fucking relief."

"I didn't say I wouldn't tell your dad," Spike replied cheekily, sticking his tongue out.

"Stick that thing out again," Connor teased. "Maybe I'll give it a tug."

Connor was trying to "play." Spike knew that, and it partly pleased and partly irritated him. He wasn't some little child, not anymore. Couldn't Connor see that? Of course, maybe it was hard on him, too, the way things had happened. He hadn't really thought about it from that viewpoint before. Maybe Connor had just gotten used to him being six years old, and now here he was practically a man the next day. Certainly that would take anyone some getting used to.

"... listening?" Connor asked.

"Huh?" Spike asked.

"I said, are you listening?" Connor repeated.

Spike nodded, though of course he hadn't been listening at all. He'd been inside his own head, thinking about his own thoughts, which were far more important to him than anything Connor could have to say.

"What did I say, then?" Connor challenged lightly.

Spike frowned and ducked his head. He hadn't expected Connor to call him on it, and now that he was getting a child's scolding in addition to a child's invitation to play, he felt the last vestiges of his improved mood slipping away.

"I said I forgot that the cleaning people are coming today," Connor answered for him. "I was hoping we could go somewhere—you know, keep to the shadows, but still go—but we'll have to stay here until they're done."

Spike shrugged. It didn't make any difference to him, as long as he could stay in his room and not have to talk to anybody.

"They'll need to do your room, too," Connor said, dashing his hopes. "Dad wouldn't let them clean it while you were gone, so it's long overdue."

"No," Spike said.

"No?" Connor asked.

"They don't need to do my room," Spike said. "It's fine."

"It is not fine," Connor argued. "It's covered in dust, and the carpet needs cleaned something awful. It won't take them long. They know what they're doing."

"I said I don't want them in there!" Spike said hotly, jumping to his feet. "I'll just clean it myself!"

"Spike, it'll be fine," Connor said, bemused. "What's the big deal?"

What was the big deal? The big deal was that Spike didn't want anyone in his room, seeing all the little kid things that were in there and thinking a little kid lived there. If the cleaning people saw him and knew that was his room, what would they think when they saw all the baby toys and baby clothes? They would think him a baby, and they would laugh at him! The idea alone was too much to bear.

With that thought, Spike turned and stormed upstairs to his room. He found a roll of trash bags under the bathroom sink and hastily ripped one off before haphazardly shoving both clothes and toys into it at random. He had to get all this stuff packed up before anyone got there to see.

"What are you doing?" Connor asked with alarm, leaning against his door frame.

"Go away," was Spike's reply.

"Nope," Connor answered firmly. "That doesn't work on me. What are you doing?"

"I said get out!" Spike yelled for the second time that day, feeling his face turn red with anger.

Why couldn't Connor just let him alone for five bloody minutes? He'd been hounding him all day long.

"If I'd said that to Father, he would have slapped me into next week," Connor replied candidly. "Well, you know. If we'd _had_ weeks in Quor-toth."

"Yeah, well, you're not my father!" Spike inevitably spat. "You're not anyone! So get out!"

"Fine," Connor replied calmly. "And you stay here. I don't want to see you out of this room for the rest of the day, do you understand me?"

Spike declined to answer and kept stuffing things into trash bags. He could feel his ears burning up with a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and downright fury. Connor—Connor was just a child compared to him! Spike had lived for over a hundred years! He'd done things—great and terrible things! He'd saved the world! What had Connor ever done? Sunk his father to the bottom of the ocean in a fit of confused rage? Big wow. Connor hadn't done anything with his life, and if he thought that he was going to boss Spike around like that, well, he could just get bent.

"I understand," he replied, trying to conceal his seething anger when Connor kept looking at him.

"Good," Connor said. "And don't think for a second that I intend to just leave you up here unsupervised. I learned my lesson about that yesterday, though I highly doubt you did. You'll be leaving the door open, and I'll be checking on you every few minutes. Got it?"

Spike couldn't help himself. He lifted the toy that was in his hand—he barely registered that it was a piece of track from a train set—and hurled it straight at Connor's fat head. Connor almost laughed, but he got it in check, realizing that wouldn't help the situation. He easily ducked the projectile which, to Spike's utter horror, smacked the newly-arriving Angel squarely on the forehead.


	20. Chapter 20

"Ow!" Angel exclaimed in pure, unadulterated surprise, glaring at the toy as it fell to the floor beside him.

"Oops," Spike said weakly, suddenly feeling the need to sit down but unable to make his legs work.

A number of thoughts went through Spike's head at that moment. He could make a run for it—'cept his legs wouldn't cooperate. He could beg forgiveness, but that wouldn't be very becoming. Or he could stick around and take what came to him. After all, Connor had punched Angel right in the face and knocked him out, and he hadn't been beaten to death for it. Of course, Connor was Angel's son, and Spike, he was just his … well, his nothing, he supposed.

"You," Angel said, pointing at Connor, "go to your room."

Connor turned and left without a word. Being sent to his room in front of the thirteen-year-old whom he had just grounded wasn't exactly ideal, but no way in hell was he going to refuse, not when Angel used that tone of voice.

"And _you_," Angel said ominously, entering the room and shutting the door behind him, "start talkin'."

"It was an accident!" Spike blurted out immediately.

"It didn't look like an accident," Angel said, pointing toward the bed and indicating that Spike should sit there.

"Well," Spike started as he backed carefully toward his bed. "Well … I … Yeah, I meant to throw it. But I didn't mean to hit _you_."

Angel shook his head and broke into a smile that he didn't even try to stifle as he sat down next to Spike.

"Thank you for being honest," he said with approval. "Now, do you wanna tell me what that was all about?"

Spike shook his head no and examined his feet, flexing his toes hard around the little plastic thongs of the flip flops.

"Let me rephrase, then," Angel said. "You can either tell me what that was about while sitting comfortably—or not. Your choice."

Spike stole a quick glance at Angel's face, and to his surprise, he didn't see anger there. He saw confusion, worry, and unmistakeable stress. And also a little red mark where the train track had hit him...

"Connor was being a bossy prat," he mumbled.

"I heard," Angel said, nodding.

"You did?" Spike asked. "We didn't hear you come in."

"I'm sneaky," Angel said lightly. "And besides, I guess you were too busy arguing. And if I'm not mistaken, I also heard you yell at him to get out of your room. Is that right?"

Spike nodded miserably and laced his fingers together in his lap before squeezing both hands hard in between his knees and bouncing his legs up and down nervously.

"I couldn't help it, Angel," he admitted in a cheerless, truthful whisper. "I feel … awful."

"I imagine you do," Angel said sympathetically, giving him an awkward pat on the back. "Yesterday, you were my little boy, and today, you're..."

"Nothing," Spike answered for him, wiping at a tear that threatened to escape.

"I was going to say my little man," Angel said, taking him by the chin and tipping his face upward to get a look at him.

Spike self-consciously jerked his face out of Angel's grasp and turned his attention back to his feet.

"Nice shoes," Angel commented, following his gaze.

"Ha bloody ha," Spike murmured sullenly, letting the flip flops fall to the floor and silently wondering if it was a good time to bring up the possibility of clothes shopping again.

"What were you doing in here, redecorating?" Angel asked, abruptly cutting off that thought. He surveyed the small garbage bags littering the room. "You're throwing away all your toys?"

"No," Spike said quickly. "I just … I guess it's stupid."

"What?" Angel asked.

"Connor said the cleaning people are coming today, and I didn't want them to see," he confessed.

"Okay," Angel answered, deciding to leave it at that for now.

Spike stuck his feet back into Connor's shoes, for lack of anything better to do, and fidgeted nervously as he waited for Angel to get down to business.

"Tell me what our rules are," Angel said after a moment.

Spike frowned and looked up at him uncertainly.

"Our rules," Angel repeated. "Have you forgotten them already?"

Spike shook his head slowly, though he wasn't entirely sure what rules Angel meant. Did he mean the rules they had set up for his six-year-old self? Those were the only rules he remembered hearing about lately, though "lately" really did seem like seven or so years ago by this point.

"Um..." he began sheepishly. "No throwing things?"

"That is indeed one of them, and it still stands," Angel said, nodding. "What else?"

"No going outside in the daytime," Spike answered.

"Close, but not exactly," Angel answered, causing Spike's head to shoot up. "No going outside _at all_ without permission. That still stands, too."

"But—"

"Not right now," Angel said, cutting him off. "What else?"

Spike frowned hard before he answered.

"Connor's in charge when you're gone," he whispered, blushing.

"That's right," Angel said. "By my count, you've broken two of those rules already—and if you broke the third one, just don't even tell me. So that means, whether I agree with it or not, Connor's sentence from earlier holds, and you need to spend the day in your room—regardless of whether he's a 'bossy prat.'"

"But that isn't fair!"

"How so?" Angel asked, but his tone wasn't belittling or demeaning in any way, so Spike decided it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"I'm older than he is!" he answered earnestly. "It's not fair!"

"So, you should be in charge of him, then?" Angel asked with a slight grin.

"Well … no," Spike answered, though he didn't think that sounded like an entirely bad idea.

"You see my point?" Angel asked, poking him playfully in the ribs. "It's not about who's the oldest, not right now. My only concern is keeping you safe, and Connor—maybe he can be a little overbearing, but I'm told that runs in his genes—that's his only concern, too. Just think of him as an older brother for now. Can you do that for me?"

"Why?" Spike asked, mystified.

"Why what?" Angel asked, just as mystified by the question.

"Why is keeping me safe so important, when I'm not anything to you?" Spike asked honestly.

"What do you mean, you're not anything to me?" Angel asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

"I'm not your family," Spike mumbled. "Not really. And I'm not anything to Connor, either."

"B.S.," Angel answered firmly.

He unexpectedly picked Spike up and deposited him onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

"I'm too old for this!" Spike protested, embarrassed and trying to wiggle away.

"Stop it," Angel admonished, swatting him on the backside.

"I'm too old for that, too!" Spike protested, but he stilled nonetheless and let Angel hold him.

Spike gently traced his index finger over the knuckles of Angel's right hand, which looked like it had recently been engaged in some battering.

"You should see the other guy," Angel commented lightly as he noticed.

"Why'd you leave earlier?" Spike mumbled softly, ignoring Angel's pitiful attempt at humor.

"I was scared," Angel admitted. "But I think I'm better now."

"You don't get scared," Spike said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ever."

"Sure I do," Angel replied. "I just don't tell you about it, because it would make you insufferable."

"I'll remember that," Spike said cheekily.

"It's okay to be scared," Angel informed him. "Remember that, too."

"Okay," Spike whispered.

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments until Spike couldn't take the suspense any longer.

"...Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to … I-I mean, am I in trouble with you?" he stammered out.

While he might have entertained grand notions of being beyond reproach, what with none of this being his fault and all, Spike knew that when it came right down to it, he had misbehaved. That was something that Angel didn't take lightly, and Spike thought ruefully that if his grandsire wanted to punish him for it, well, he'd be forced to submit, whether by choice or not. This man might not be his father, but he definitely had spanking privileges, because he was … well, he was _Angel._

"I think we can let it go, just this once, don't you?" Angel asked, giving him an indulgent smile and ruffling his hair.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Spike said.

"But tell me this... Is that train track made out of actual iron or steel or something?" Angel asked, rubbing at his forehead dramatically. "Jesus, that hurt!"

"Hard plastic," Spike answered, grinning. "You're just a wimp."

"Oh, that must be it," Angel agreed. "Well, either way, I don't think they should sell that to children."

"What about Connor?" Spike mumbled after a moment.

"No, they can sell it to him," Angel answered, feigning ignorance.

"No, not that. He's … never mind," Spike said glumly.

"I'll talk to Connor," Angel assured him. "But don't forget the rules we talked about."

"I won't," Spike said quietly.

"Good."

"... Angel?"

"Yes?"

"Can … Can I call Willow? I know you already told me no, but I'd really like to just see if she can do anything, and I promise I won't pester her about it. I'll just ask, and..."

"I didn't say you couldn't call her," Angel interrupted, releasing Spike and letting him slide off his lap onto the bed. "I only said you couldn't call her right then."

"So you'll let me now?" Spike asked hopefully.

"Well," Angel said carefully, "let me talk to her first, okay?"

"Why?" Spike asked, trying not to sound too whiny.

"Well, for one thing, she won't recognize your new voice," Angel teased.

"It comes and goes," Spike squeaked out. "I was hoping you hadn't noticed."

"Just let me talk to her first, all right?" Angel said. "I'll call her here in a few minutes, I promise."

"Thanks … Papa," Spike said shyly.

"You're welcome, Will."

Before he left, Angel dropped a kiss right down on Spike's light brown tresses just like he'd done when he was a little boy, and Spike felt too pleased by the action to even be insulted by it. Maybe things would turn out fine. After all, Angel seemed a whole lot more patient than he used to be, and he hadn't gotten in trouble for his tantrum earlier—tantrum wasn't a manly, flattering word, but it was the only accurate one he could think of to describe it—and while the thought of being forced to follow the same rules as a six-year-old was rather appalling, it was also … comforting.

Spike thought all that over as he finished gathering his toys into bags and hiding them in the back of the closet. He might have felt a little better for the time being, but hey—he still had his pride.


	21. Chapter 21

_Bad language and spanking in this chapter. Please skip it if that's offensive to you._

* * *

Angel walked right past Connor's room, forgetting he'd even sent him there. He reached the lobby before he remembered, and in a sudden bout of laziness, picked up the phone and dialed his son's room.

"Reilly's Bar and Grille," Connor answered.

"Get down here," Angel said, laughing.

"Not sure I wanna," Connor answered seriously.

"And why's that?" Angel asked.

"You gonna yell at me?"

"Guess you'll just have to come down and find out," Angel replied. "Unless you'd like me to come up there and get you?"

"No, that's okay," Connor replied quickly, hanging up the phone.

If Angel was going to yell at him, he'd rather get it over with downstairs. Spike would hear it either way, but at least he'd be further from the action in the lobby.

"Is uh … your face okay?" Connor asked, motioning toward the still prominent red mark on his dad's forehead.

"I'll live," Angel replied sarcastically.

"Do you think I was being bossy?" Connor asked sheepishly. "And/or a 'prat?'"

"I think you were eavesdropping on my conversation with Spike," Angel answered with raised eyebrows.

"Dad, you know I can't help it," Connor replied, grinning nervously. "The walls are thin, plus you gave me this super hearing and stuff."

"So it's my fault you can't mind your own business?" Angel asked mildly.

"Well … yeah," Connor answered, shrugging.

Angel sighed, defeated, and sank down into a chair.

"I think you handled it just right," he finally said, much to Connor's relief.

"Really?" he asked happily.

"Yeah," Angel assured him. "Much better than I would have."

"You didn't like, tack on any extra punishment, did you?" Connor asked warily.

"You tell me," Angel replied. "You listened to the whole thing."

"Just making sure," Connor mumbled.

"I got a phone call to make," Angel said. "And I know you grounded him and all, but after the cleaning service people leave, I think it'd be a good idea if we took our moody teenager out to get some things of his own. You up for it?"

"Yeah, sure," Connor replied enthusiastically.

Connor had been to the mall once and survived. He could do it again. He found he didn't dread the event nearly as much this time—and Spike _probably_ wouldn't throw any ice cream cones down any aisles on this trip, either.

Angel reached for the phone. He knew there was probably nothing Willow could do for Spike, at least not without putting everything in her own life on hold and coming to L.A. to see them in person, but he still felt that twinge of guilt over not having asked her sooner. Maybe, if he put it charmingly enough, she would omit that little detail from her conversation with Spike. He grabbed for the receiver, but before he could carry out his task, the phone rang.

* * *

No one ever kept their promises to him. Typical.

It had been over a whole day now, and still no call to Willow. Angel had _promised_ him that he would call her. He had _promised_! And then just because some supposed "emergency" call had come in, he'd completely abandoned his plans and gone out to fight the big evil. Well, big deal. As far as Spike was concerned, the big evil could wait.

Not only that, but babysitter Connor had been true to his word and made him stay in his room the entire rest of the day and night, even when it was being cleaned. He'd sat cross-legged and pissed off on his bed while all his stuff got dusted and his carpet got shampooed, and as much as he'd wanted to just sit there and glare silently, he'd had to speak up and stop them from pulling his garbage bags of toys out of the closet. They were going to throw away his toys! Sure, maybe he didn't want to play with them just then—er, anymore—but he didn't want them tossed into the dumpster, either.

He glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty in the morning, and as far as he could tell, Connor had neither risen nor shone yet. What happened to all those sodding rules, then? They only applied to him, and any other deals were off? Was that how it was going to go, then? Figured.

Well, Spike was hungry, and by his counts, he should no longer be confined to his room, so he stomped out, slammed his door for good measure, and went to the kitchen for breakfast.

Out of blood.

_Out of blood!_

How could they possibly be out of blood? Angel was a vampire! That was like a human managing to run out of every single comestible item all at once! How was that even possible?

Spike slammed the refrigerator door and spun around to find something to take his anger out on. Cereal. Connor liked cereal, didn't he? Well, he'd just see how Connor liked his whole box of cereal poured down the garbage disposal! That would send the message, wouldn't it?

He emptied every last crumb into the noisy disposal with smug satisfaction, and then poured the last of the milk in there for good measure. There. That would show him.

"What are you doing?" Angel asked sharply.

Spike jumped and spun around, trying to get the guilty look off his face and make his features blank. From the expression on Angel's face, he didn't think he'd done a very good job of it.

"What are you doing?" Angel repeated.

"I-I was … we're out of blood," Spike answered weakly.

"So you thought, if you couldn't have any breakfast, neither should Connor?" Angel correctly guessed.

Well, just when had Angel gotten so damned astute? Spike bristled, angry at himself—for being caught, but not so much for what he'd done—and crossed his arms over his chest, aiming a nasty scowl at the kitchen tile because he didn't quite dare to aim it at Angel.

Angel sighed and counted to ten in his head. He'd been out all night, and this is what he comes home to—a spiteful teenager having a hissy fit because things weren't going exactly his way. Counting to ten didn't work, so he continued on to twenty. At twenty, he still wanted to grab Spike and spank him 'til his hand hurt, but he knew that wasn't the right thing to do. It might make him feel better—hell, it _would_ make him feel better—but that didn't make it right.

"I need to be alone for awhile," he finally said, his voice dangerously calm. "We'll talk about this later."

Spike waited until Angel's back was turned to do a silent, unflattering mimic of what his grandsire had just said, and then immediately felt a shiver of dread go down his spine as he realized that, for all his empty promises, Angel would probably keep that one.

Angel walked straight into Connor's room, yanked his son's covers back, and landed three of the hardest slaps he could manage to his son's little boxer-clad backside before Connor wiggled away in alarm.

"Dad, what'd I do!" he exclaimed, pulling his covers back up around him protectively. "What'd I do!"

Angel pointed at the clock and then pointed downstairs.

"What?" Connor asked sleepily.

Connor had no idea what Angel's problem was, but he grabbed his arm, flipped him over, and began to spank him in earnest.

"Dad, stop!" he squealed, throwing his free hand back to cover his butt. "You're hurting me!"

"Move your hand," Angel ordered, slapping him hard on the thigh.

"Ow! Stop!" Connor said frantically. "I didn't do anything! Please!"

Angel landed a few more good smacks to Connor's thighs before hauling him roughly to his feet. Connor jerked free and gracefully stumbled backwards a few feet before allowing both hands to unabashedly rub his stinging bottom.

"What was that for!" he shouted angrily, feeling all the blood in his body rush to his face.

"Did you, or did you not, make a deal with that little boy downstairs that you'd be up by 10 A.M.?" Angel asked sternly.

Connor coughed out an incredulous breath, but couldn't seem to form words. That was what this was about? Angel had given him such a rude awakening just because he wasn't up on time? Jesus.

"Well?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, but..." Connor started, "...I didn't think that still held."

"Did you make him have lights out by 3?" Angel asked pointedly.

"Well, y-yeah, but..." Connor stammered.

"If it still applies to him, then it still applies to you," Angel informed him.

"Well, you could have told me that nicely!" Connor protested hotly. "You didn't have to haul off and hit me!"

"You've needed a good reminder for awhile now," Angel said, and Connor felt the blush in his face spread to his ears and neck.

"All right. I'm sorry! I'm fucking awake, okay! Jesus!" he replied, grabbing for a shirt to put on.

"Watch the attitude," Angel warned. "I'm not in the mood."

"Clearly," Connor muttered from underneath his shirt as he pulled it over his head.

"I'm gonna lie down," Angel said. "You are going to take Spike down to Sal's. We're out of blood, and he's hungry."

"Okay, fine," Connor said, looking everywhere but at his father's face. "Whatever."

"Connor," Angel said harshly.

"Okay!" Connor replied immediately. "I'm sorry!"

Angel stormed out of the room, and Connor hastily put on some pants. He couldn't believe Angel had done that. Well, yeah, he supposed he could believe it—but he didn't like it. Much to his chagrin, it had plain _hurt_, both his ass and his pride.

Downstairs, Spike felt ashamed of himself. He heard what Connor was getting and knew that it was probably meant for him, and he deserved it more—maybe. He wished there were some way to get Connor's cereal out of the garbage disposal.

"Hey," Connor tried to say nonchalantly as he pushed open the kitchen door. "Sorry I'm late getting up. We're going out. Go through my closet and pick out whatever you want to wear."

"Wow, really?" Spike asked, unsure why he was so thrilled by that, but excited nonetheless. "Whatever I want?"

"Yeah," Connor answered, refusing to look him in the eye. "Just hurry. I need out of here."

Spike needed out of there, too, so he sprinted upstairs and did as Connor had bid him. Everything in Connor's closet would be a little bit baggy on him, but that was the current style, anyway.

Connor sighed and snaked a hand back to rub at his bottom again while Spike was gone. It was way too bright outside to drive safely. They'd have to walk to make sure they could keep in the shade. That was okay. Walking was good. It got the old heart pumping—well, his anyway—and more importantly, it took a long time. And at the moment, a long time away from Angel seemed like just the ticket.

* * *

_Yeah, I know. Connor's way too old for that at this point. But I don't know-I think he had it coming. :D_


	22. Chapter 22

"I still don't understand why we couldn't just drive," Spike whined for at least the third time.

"I told you, I'm not putting you in the trunk," Connor answered again.

"But it'd be perfectly fine," Spike argued, kicking at a rock—hopefully it was a rock—along the side of the sewer wall. "I hate the sewer. I'm wearing _flip flops _in the _sewer. _I'd rather just ride in the trunk!"

"I'm not stuffing a kid into a trunk, okay?" Connor snapped. "That goes against all my good judgment. So stop going on about it."

"Since when do you have good judgment?" Spike muttered.

"Well, bringing you out probably wasn't the best display of it," Connor admitted.

"You had to," Spike said knowingly. "I … I heard."

"Of course you did," Connor answered sullenly. "Huge hotel like that, and still nobody gets any privacy."

"Don't know why you're complaining—at least your door has a lock."

"Yours would still have one if you hadn't been such a little jerk," Connor pointed out. "Besides, we can fix that. Just have to make time to get around to it, like everything else."

"Oh," Spike answered simply.

He honestly hadn't given it a thought that they might get his door fixed. He supposed he'd figured that he'd forever lost locking privileges by crawling out that window.

"I'm sorry you got in trouble this morning because of me," Spike suddenly offered.

"It wasn't because of you," Connor answered, and then second-guessed himself. "Was it? Did you complain to Angel that I wasn't out of bed? Is that why he stormed up there?"

"No!" Spike said quickly. "Of course not! I wouldn't do that. That's … not what I did."

"What did you do, then?" Connor asked.

"Made him angry," Spike replied. "He … I think he was going to get me, but he went up and got you instead."

"I see," Connor murmured. "He 'got' me, all right."

Connor wondered if Spike would make fun of him. Kids were cruel, after all, and seemed to take particular delight in trying to get each other into trouble.

"'M sorry," Spike mumbled instead.

"Don't worry about it," Connor said dismissively, giving the back of Spike's head a playful shove. "I can handle Angel."

"Oh, really?" Spike asked wryly. "How do you plan to do that?"

"Easy," Connor replied. "Set my clock and get my ass out of bed on time from now on!"

Spike laughed, and the two of them continued on in companionable silence toward the butcher shop. He wondered if he should casually suggest a trip to the grocery store, too, to get more cereal, but he didn't really feel like mentioning it just yet.

"Stop," Connor whispered suddenly, grabbing Spike by the collar and pulling him up short.

"What?" Spike whispered back. "What is it?"

"Shh!" Connor shushed him. "Listen."

Spike turned his head to the side, and when he concentrated, he did hear something. A sort of _slurk, slurk, slurk _noise coming in their direction. It could have just been a vagrant wading through the muck and the mire, but it sounded slow and muffled, and distinctly unhuman.

"Did you bring any weapons?" he whispered urgently to Connor.

"No!" Connor hissed. "Be quiet!"

Spike frowned, both at Connor's unpreparedness and at the admonishment.

Connor pushed him backward so that he was flush with the sewer wall. Spike made a disgusted face, but then he cheered somewhat when he realized that, hey, it was Connor's clothes that were going to smell like sewer, not his. Because he didn't have any of his own yet...

"Can we go to the mall?" he whispered, earning him a scathing, impatient look. "After the butcher shop? Oh, and after whatever this thing is. You know, maybe get me some clothes?"

"Shut. Up," Connor said pointedly as the _slurk, slurk, slurk_ came nearer. "Do not say another word."

Connor could usually see and sense pretty well in the dark, but try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint the location of whatever was making its way toward them. Was it invisible? He hated invisible monsters. They were the worst!

"I see it!" Spike exclaimed gleefully despite the orders he'd been given to remain silent, pointing up at the ceiling. "There!"

Connor followed Spike's outstretched arm and groaned. Some sort of slug monster. _Those_ were the worst.

"Can you kill it?" Spike whispered.

"We don't even know that we _need _to kill it yet," Connor whispered back. "It hasn't tried to hurt us, has—"

Connor, in all his twenty-five years, had never quite mastered the art of not jinxing himself. Six long, sharp, spindly black legs suddenly sprouted with a sickening noise from the slug creature's belly, and it dropped to the sewer floor in front of them and turned cold, blood-thirsty eyes that hadn't been there before their way.

"I _hate_ the sewer!" Spike whispered vehemently. "_I hate it!_"

"Get back!" Connor ordered, shoving him in the opposite direction. "Run!"

"I'm not running and leaving you alone with that!" Spike protested shrilly.

"Then stay out of the way!" Connor shouted as the creature lunged for him.

Connor found himself suddenly rather ill-tempered as the creature slashed a leg toward his throat. Who did this slimy, nasty thing think it was? This was L.A. This was _Connor's_ city, and Connor was The Destroyer. The Destroyer had handled much badder monsters than this pathetic thing. Rather than take a step back, he latched onto the leg and ripped it right out of the slug's body before jabbing it back at him and driving the limb all the way through the creature from his head to his … other head? Furious wailing came from both ends before the thing's legs went out from under him and he collapsed, dead, into a puddle of his own slime.

"Cool!" Spike exclaimed excitedly. "That was … That was amazing! You're like … You're … Wow, Connor! Cool!"

"Yeah," Connor said breathlessly, squatting down for a moment to take a break. "Cool, huh?"

"You all right?" Spike asked.

"Yeah, I just need to … to..."

Connor turned his head to the side and unexpectedly vomited all over the place until he couldn't heave anymore.

"Um..." Spike said, wrinkling his nose and unsure what to do. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

"Yeah," Connor said, letting Spike help him get to his feet. "Let's."

Once they made it to the butcher shop, Connor promptly went to the bathroom and rinsed his mouth out over and over and splashed his face with water until he felt a little better. He risked a glance into the mirror above the sink, and sure enough, he looked like hell. He wasn't sure what exactly had come over him—after all, he killed monsters and demons every single week—but damn. That one had really pissed him off, and he'd felt some of that old Quor-toth rage bubbling up inside him. Hopefully he'd vomited it all onto the sewer floor.

"... really something!" Connor heard as he finally emerged from the bathroom. "Can't believe that! You've been gone a long time, and come back a whole new little man!"

He made his way toward the talking to find Sal, his father's supernatural-friendly butcher, pinching Spike's cheeks.

"And handsome, too!" he exclaimed. "How long you reckon it'll take to get you back to normal?"

"Dunno," Spike said, happily slurping what was presumably pig's blood out of a Styrofoam cup with a straw in it.

Gross.

Besides feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of slurping blood through a straw, Connor was a little bit alarmed at this exchange. He didn't think it was a great idea for Spike to tell too many people what had happened to him. After all, they had enemies in the city, enemies who might think a teenaged Spike would be an easy target.

"Thanks, Sal," Connor said abruptly, pulling money from his wallet and shoving it into the butcher's hand—hopefully enough to buy both blood and silence. "I'd rather you didn't mention this to anyone, if you don't mind."

"Sure, Con," he replied easily, pocketing the cash. "No problem. Say hello to Angel for me."

Sal handed him an extra large paper bag full of plastic containers of blood, but Connor shook his head and handed it off to Spike.

"Why do I gotta carry it?" he protested.

"It's your food," Connor said even though the mere mental image of the blood was making his stomach turn. "You carry it."

Spike rolled his eyes but held the bag to him and headed toward the door. Connor gave Sal a weak smile and followed.

"You can't just go telling people about your ... circumstances," Connor quietly cautioned as they hit the alleys.

"I've known Sal for years," Spike said dismissively.

"Yeah, but people talk," Connor argued. "They might not mean to, and they might not mean you any harm, but things have a way of getting out. Just be more careful from now on, okay? If someone doesn't recognize you right away, don't go telling 'em who you are."

"All right, Connor," Spike said. "I understand."

"Good," Connor said, suddenly doubling over and taking huge, gulping breaths.

"Connor!" Spike exclaimed. "Are you okay? You're looking a little peaked."

"I'm … fine..." Connor replied, though the fact that he had to take a deep breath between only two words suggested otherwise.

"Let's get you home!" Spike said with concern. "I think you're sick."

"No, not sick," Connor said petulantly, shaking his head in denial. "I don't get sick."

"Well, things change," Spike replied, pulling him along. "Come on."

"No, wait," Connor said. "Didn't you want to go to the mall?"

Spike hesitated, torn between doing what he wanted to do and what he knew was right.

"I don't think you're in any shape to, mate," he finally answered with a long sigh. "You can take me some other time."

"How about there?" Connor asked, pointing up at the metal sign on the back of the building they were standing beside.

"You just don't want to go home!" Spike accused as he followed Connor's gaze and took a look at the sign. "'Headcase?' I don't get it."

"It's a salon," Connor told him. "Come on. We'll get your hair done. You know, the way you like it."

"You'd do that for me?" Spike asked in surprise. "But … Do you think your dad will be mad?"

"Who cares?" Connor snapped.

"I care," Spike said, adjusting his bag in his arms.

"Come on," Connor coaxed. "He won't be mad. Why would he? It's your hair."

Spike gave Connor a doubtful look. He didn't seem to know his own father very well.

"There are mirrors in there," Spike pointed out. "How do you intend to explain to them why I don't cast a reflection?"

"Let me take care of it," Connor said, brushing it off. "Come on. You up for it?"

"Well … Okay. If you really think we should," Spike replied reluctantly.

It took some doing, and some more of his money, but Connor convinced a cute young stylist to do his "kid brother's" hair in the back room because he was shy and didn't want people looking at him. Spike chickened out a little once he was actually in the chair and asked the woman to only give him platinum blond tips and not do his whole head. She gave him a conspiratorial smile and asked the two of them if their parents knew what they were up to. Connor assured her that no, they did not, and then he slid back in his chair and took deep breaths while he waited for her to work her magic.

An hour and a half later, a sweaty, nauseated Connor and a chipper, freshly-dyed little Spike made their way back to the Hyperion. Connor hadn't wanted to go home yet—he was kind of hoping to give Angel enough time to sleep off his mood—but he had to admit that he felt _bad. _

Spike set the blood, bag and all, into the refrigerator before insisting that Connor actually take the elevator up to his room. Connor protested, saying that he could walk just fine and the elevator would make too much noise, but Spike rolled his eyes and shoved him into it anyway before stepping in himself. He wondered why it was they never seemed to use this thing—it was awesome! He pushed the button and got a thrill as the elevator opened to their floor with a cheerful ding.

"Freezing," Connor declared as he fell onto his bed.

"You've got a fever," Spike informed him as he pulled the blankets up around him.

"No fever," Connor replied. "No."

"Yes," Spike said firmly. "You do. We never should have stayed out this long with you this sick."

Spike got Connor a cool wash cloth and mopped his forehead with it. Connor shivered and tried to slap Spike's hand away, but he misjudged the action and didn't even come close to making contact.

"I'm waking your dad," Spike said.

"No!" Connor protested. "Don't. I'm fine. Let him sleep."

Spike frowned and stared down at the shivering Connor, who couldn't even keep his eyes open anymore. Whose wrath did he fear more at this point, Connor's—shaking, feverish Connor who'd be upset that he'd woken Angel, or Angel's when he learned that his son had been in such bad shape and no one had gotten him up? He decided that Angel was definitely the more formidable of the two, so he turned and sprinted down the hall to get him.


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: This chapter does contain corporal punishment and talk of corporal punishment, so please skip it if that isn't for you._

* * *

If Angel was still tired or irritable, Spike couldn't tell as he watched him hover worriedly over Connor.

"And you say he's been like this for how long?" he asked.

"Since the sewer," Spike repeated.

"I'm really fine, Dad," Connor tried to say, but he was vaguely aware that the words came out weak and garbled.

Angel took the wet washcloth from Spike's hand and dabbed at Connor's face and neck.

"Shh," he soothed. "Don't try to talk, son."

"I can talk if I want to," he tried to retort, but was cognizant enough to be grateful that Angel hadn't understood him.

"This is all my fault," Angel muttered, fluffing up Connor's pillows and tucking him in for the third or fourth time. "Daddy messed up. I never should have lashed out at you like that and sent you out in the sewer to catch your death."

"No, Daddy," Connor argued, and through his bleary vision he could tell that Angel had understood that one.

Spike reached for the washcloth, which Angel relinquished to him, and went to the bathroom to freshen it up. He found a bowl to put some water in and brought that back to the room with him, too. He didn't think Angel had really ever had a sick person to fuss over—not a living, breathing one, anyway—and he didn't seem to be taking it very well.

"Here," he said, wringing out the cloth and handing it back to Angel.

"Thanks, pal," Angel replied absently. "Should probably call him a doctor. I don't even know any doctors. How can I not even know a doctor for my son? Maybe I should call the Reillys..."

Angel was the worst father. What kind of father had to call the house of complete strangers to ask who his son's general practitioner was? How could he even explain such a thing to those people, those _normal_ people? The Reillys knew Connor lived with Angel, and they accepted it, though they didn't exactly approve of it. But what if they got scared and they came and tried to take him away? Angel wasn't letting anyone take his son away, not ever again. No, he wouldn't call them—he'd call every doctor in the phone book before he'd call them. He'd take him to the emergency room if he got worse. God, he wasn't going to get worse, was he?

"Angel?" Spike said hesitantly, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Yeah?" Angel answered, not bothering to turn his attention from Connor.

"It might have something to do with that demon he killed."

"What?"

Angel spun around suddenly, knocking the bowl of water that Spike had brought to the floor, but they both ignored it.

"What demon?" he demanded. "You didn't say there was a demon!"

"Well, there was," Spike informed him. "In the sewer. Connor killed it."

"What kind of demon?" Angel asked worriedly.

"I dunno. Sluggy, slimy one. Two heads, one with big eyes and one with no eyes."

"Two heads. Slug, slime," Angel repeated to himself. "Slug. Slime. Hang on!"

Angel disappeared for a few minutes while Spike took over forehead mopping duties. Connor sighed deeply, and Spike thought his lungs didn't sound like they were feeling so great.

"Love you," Connor murmured, though since he had his eyes closed, Spike figured that had been meant for Angel. Or who knew, maybe some girlfriend.

"Yeah, mate. Back atcha," he answered anyway.

"Here," Angel said, animatedly tapping at a page in the book he held as he ran back into the room. "Here. Is that it? Is that the demon Connor killed?"

Spike looked at the illustration.

"Yeah, that's him, all right," he answered.

"Oh, thank God," Angel sighed, tossing the book aside and sighing with relief as he sank down on the bed next to his son and kissed him all over his face despite the sweaty state of it. "You're gonna be all right."

"He is?" Spike prompted.

"He must have touched it," Angel said, somewhere between a statement and a question.

"Well, yeah," Spike answered. "He killed it with its own leg. I'd say that's touching it."

"Their bodies are poisonous, but the poison isn't fatal to humans. It'll just make him sick for a day or two. Once his fever burns out, he'll be okay."

"No fever," Connor insisted with a pout. "No fever! Not sick."

"Yes, fever," Spike and Angel replied together, and then each of them laughed nervously.

"He thinks he can't get sick," Spike said, shaking his head. "He thinks nothing can hurt him."

"He's stubborn like his father," Angel explained.

"Mmm," Spike agreed.

"I never had a sick little boy before," Angel murmured, pushing Connor's hair back off of his face. "I've had a confused little boy and a murderous little boy. A good little boy, and a bad little boy, and a drunk little boy. But never a sick one. Not like this."

"Yeah," Spike said uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like an intruder in some weirdly special family moment. "Well, um. If there's anything I can do for him..."

"Oh, no," Angel said, shaking his head and turning to actually look at Spike for the first time since he'd heard the words _Connor's sick. _"You and me still have to have that talk."

Angel's brow furrowed for a moment, and Spike cleared his throat for something to do and then looked at the floor.

"What happened to your hair?" Angel suddenly asked.

"Are you mad?" Spike asked nervously. "I told Connor you'd be mad, but he said so what!"

Spike felt a little bad, trying to incriminate poor, defenseless Connor, who'd drifted to sleep now and couldn't even throw any of the blame back at him. But he didn't feel _that_ bad about it.

"No, I'm not mad," Angel finally answered. "It … It looks good, actually."

"Really?" Spike asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Angel said, nodding his approval. "I mean, no way in hell would I have allowed a thirteen-year-old boy to get a dye job, but yeah. It looks good."

"Thanks, I guess," Spike said shyly.

"Now, I want you to go down to my office and wait for me there," Angel instructed, though he didn't sound particularly stern or disappointed or any of the other things that Angel normally sounded when he spoke to him. "I'll be there in a minute."

"'Kay," Spike mumbled, turning to leave.

Angel petted Connor and whispered sweet nothings to him for a few minutes more. He apologized to him for losing his temper earlier, even though—and well, because—Connor couldn't hear him. He felt better now. He wasn't such a terrible father after all. Demon sicknesses were right in his realm, they were something he knew, and he could take care of his sick baby boy after all.

He kissed him one more time before making sure he was tucked safely into bed to ride the fever out. He would be fine within a couple of hours, but he'd probably be weak for a few days. Nothing a little pampering couldn't fix, though, and while Angel never would have admitted it, he looked forward to spoiling his little boy for awhile.

As for his other little boy, he had some serious un-spoiling to do...

* * *

Spike fidgeted nervously as he waited for Angel to come downstairs. Geez, he was taking forever! What was he doing up there, writing the great American novel? He needed to hurry up and get down there so that they could have it out. Or whatever.

"Or whatever" seemed more likely, however, and Spike wondered how hard Angel was going to be on him. He'd been pretty angry with him this morning, and though he'd dodged the bullet then, he didn't think he'd dodged it completely. Would Angel bend him over his knee and smack him like a naughty child? Or was he too grown up for that now? Perhaps he was really ticked off, and he'd make him lean over the desk for a strapping. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Hey," Angel said, and he jumped in surprise.

"Hey," he replied, and of course his voice chose that moment to break again.

"You can sit down, you know," Angel said, gesturing to a chair. "I didn't mean for you to stand at attention down here."

"Oh," Spike said, embarrassed.

He was glad he hadn't gone with his initial thought and stuck his nose in the corner while he waited. That would have been humiliating.

"Sit," Angel repeated, since Spike still hadn't done it.

Spike dropped down into the nearest chair, and rather than sit behind his desk, Angel leaned back onto it and crossed his arms over his chest as he loomed—intimidatingly, he hoped—over his wayward ward. The seconds ticked by, and neither of them spoke.

"I-I'll get him some more," Spike finally offered, breaking the awkward silence. "Some more cereal, I mean. I'll go out and get it right now! … If you'll give me the money, that is, because I don't have any..."

Spike's face burned in shame for more than one reason. He hated depending on Angel. He _hated _it. But what was he supposed to do? He was apparently thirteen years old. And unlike other miserable thirteen-year-old boys, he had no idea how long he would be stuck this way. It might not even be over in a year's time—it might take two years, or three, or five! He could be stuck in this scrawny, trembling little body—when had he begun trembling, exactly?—forever! And he'd have to just stay with Angel, and answer to Angel, and depend on and be protected by Angel whether he liked it or not. It wasn't like he could live on his own and get a job, not at thirteen. He couldn't even get a job normally, nothing better than nighttime ditch digger—not unless he worked for Angel.

In a sudden fit of temper and inner turmoil, Spike leaned forward and kicked Angel's desk hard. It hurt his toes because he still sported Connor's dumb purple flip flops, but he ignored the pain and tried to focus on keeping the tears in his eyes from making their great escape.

"Hey!" Angel admonished, reaching down and smacking him firmly on the top of his leg. "You see? This is exactly your problem. You can't just say and do the first damn thing that pops into your head. Words and actions have consequences, William."

"I don't care!" Spike spat hatefully, folding his arms protectively over his chest as he lost the battle to the tears.

He kicked the front of the desk again to show Angel just how much he didn't care, but he made sure to put far less force into it this time. It didn't seem to matter either way to Angel, who'd already made up his mind. Angel easily lifted him from his chair, despite his struggles, and draped him across his right leg, which he propped up on the rungs of the chair Spike had just unwillingly vacated.

"Don't! Don't!" Spike squealed angrily, but Angel was done talking.

He hadn't planned to spank him, but it seemed that was just what this kid needed, a good, sharp shock back into reality.

Angel only gave him six smacks, but they were very hard, and Spike cried brokenly from the pain in his behind and the pain in his heart. Angel let him slide backwards to his feet, and Spike shot his grandsire a nasty look for all of two seconds before he felt himself being gathered into a crushing hug.

"No!" he tried to protest, pushing at Angel's chest. "Let go of me!"

Angel simply reached down and swatted him again, but it was more of a warning than real punishment.

"Hush," he ordered, kissing him on top of his dyed, gel-covered head.

"Let me go!" Spike cried again, though he wrapped his arms around Angel's middle and squeezed back for all he was worth. "Let me go. Let me go..."

"Never," Angel murmured softly, rubbing his back.

Spike let himself cling to Angel until he felt ridiculously embarrassed, and then he pulled away and planted himself roughly back in the chair and wiped at his nose with Connor's sleeve.

"What'd you do that for?" he demanded hotly. "That really hurt!"

"You needed an immediate demonstration of those consequences I was talking about," Angel answered, handing him a tissue. "Besides, no kid of mine is going to act like that."

"Not your kid," Spike insisted sullenly, noisily blowing his nose and handing the used tissue back to Angel, who took it without a word.

"Okay, then I did it because I really like this desk and I don't want you mistreating it," Angel responded lightly. "How's that?"

Spike shrugged, not having any answer to that nonsense.

"Listen to me," Angel said gently, and Spike managed to meet his gaze long enough to satisfy the man. "I know you're angry, but you have to keep it under control. It won't last forever."

"You don't know that!" Spike interrupted. "I could be like this forever! You don't know!"

"Do not raise your voice to me, young man," Angel admonished. "Just because you're upset, that doesn't mean that you get to shout at me."

"Sorry," Spike mumbled, wishing he had that wet tissue back so he'd have something to fiddle with during the lecture.

"It won't last forever," Angel repeated. "You weren't six forever, were you?"

Spike shook his head, reluctant to admit that the statement had reason behind it, but it did.

"And you won't be thirteen forever," Angel said resolutely. "I can't guarantee that you won't wake up tomorrow sixteen or seventeen, but even if you do, you're still making progress, huh?"

Spike nodded. He hadn't even considered the idea that this curse could drag on and on like that, with him being every damnable age between thirteen and thirty. Or worse, what if it went backward? What if he woke up tomorrow and he _was _six again? That would be just awful, and the thought brought treacherous tears back to his eyes.

"Hey, you're all right," Angel said, wiping the tears off his cheeks with his thumbs. "I didn't spank you that hard."

"Did too!" Spike insisted hotly, happy just to have something to argue about. "It still smarts!"

"You'll get over it," Angel said heartlessly, finally standing up from the desk and backing out of Spike's personal space. "Here, I have something I want to give you."

Spike watched with wary interest as Angel opened a desk drawer and removed a leather-bound book from it. Angel tossed it toward him, and he caught it easily.

"This another one of your _stories_?" he asked sarcastically. "I can read, you know—I know a copy of _Moby Dick_ when I see it."

"Oh," Angel said, feeling self-conscious for some reason. "You didn't like the stories I made up for you?"

"I … I didn't say that," Spike replied elusively. "Anyway, I guess I figured anything was better than having you read me that boring whale crap."

"Just open the book," Angel said with a sigh.

Spike flipped through the pages and found they were empty. He glanced up at Angel and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"It's a journal," Angel explained.

"You want me to keep a diary?" Spike asked with obvious disdain.

"Not a diary," Angel corrected. "A _journal. _When we men do it, it's called a _journal._"

"Well, I don't want to keep a _diary_," Spike said pointedly. "Why should I?"

"It'll help," Angel insisted. "With your … you know, your feelings. About stuff. When you get pissed off, write down all that anger instead of throwing things at people's heads or dumping Corn Chex down the drain. You need an outlet."

"What about smoking?" Spike asked hopefully. "Smoking is an outlet."

God, cigarettes! How could he have forgotten about cigarettes? Cigarettes were just … well, they were _wonderful_, and he loved them, and he wished he could have one right about now.

"No, not smoking!" Angel said sharply. "Smoking is not going to be your outlet. You are thirteen years old, and you will _not_ take up smoking again."

"Fine," Spike grumbled, fanning through the soft pages in his fancy new diary.

"I mean it, Spike," Angel said, slipping back into the more familiar, aggravated tone that he normally used around him. "If I catch you with cigarettes in this house—I mean even just one—I will pull your pants down and wear you out, and I won't care who's watching. Do you understand me?"

"Okay, Angel!" Spike replied, embarrassed. "I got it!"

"You can't even handle smoking when you're an adult," Angel raged on. "In case you've forgotten, you almost burned yourself to death doing it!"

"Okay!" Spike answered back, making sure to keep it just below a shout. "If you'll excuse me, I think I've got some writing to do in my new _journal_."

Angel made a low growl in the back of his throat, and Spike got the hell out of there before he could get himself into more hot water. He took the elevator back up to their floor—he thought that was quickly becoming one of his new favorite things—and decided to check on Connor before he went to his room. Good, Connor was both still breathing and still asleep, so he likely hadn't heard or processed any of what had just gone on downstairs.

Maybe keeping a journal wouldn't be so bad. Spike knew that Angel kept one, and that he'd done it for years, though both of them had neglected to acknowledge that fact. He'd snuck and read some of Angelus' once, but it was all stuff about the intoxicating pleasures of bloodshed and sex, and Spike had found it rather boring. Well, _his_ journal wouldn't be boring. His journal would be epic.

He found a pen and opened straight to the first blank page, where he hastily scrawled,

_Dear "Journal,"_

Ha. Those quotes were a nice touch, if he did say so himself. They conveyed his aversion to the idea while keeping to the standard form for writing in one's diary. He continued.

_Today, Connor got slug slime on him and went into a feverish fit. It's okay though, because Angel says he's going to live._

_I still don't have any clothes, but before he went all diler_

He frowned at the half-finished word. That wasn't right. He marked through it and tried again.

_delirious, Connor made me get my hair done. Angel says it looks good._

_Also, Angel has a fat head and likes to hear himself talk._

Spike closed the journal with a smug smile. Yeah. Yeah, he did feel better. He felt more than better. He felt good.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: There's corporal punishment in this chapter, so please skip it of that bothers you. By the way, I saw a shiny orange Mustang just like the one my Connor has pulled over for speeding the other day. _

* * *

It had taken two days, but Connor was almost completely back to normal. Angel could tell his son was feeling better when he'd glanced at the clock, leapt out from the opposite side of the bed to give his father a wide berth, and covered his backside with both hands as he'd fled to the bathroom declaring, "I'm up! I'm up!"

"You wanna come with me and Spike to the mall?" Angel had offered.

"Oh, Dad, I don't know," Connor had answered reluctantly. "I mean, I do feel better, but I'm not sure that wouldn't give me a relapse."

"Are you well enough to stay here by yourself?" Angel had asked with concern.

"Yeah, Dad," Connor had answered as he stood carefully shaving away two days' worth of stubble. "You took great care of me. I'm all right now."

Angel had done more than take care of him, Connor knew. He had babied him more than he'd ever been babied in his life. He'd replaced his phone for him. He'd brought him all his favorite foods and let him eat them in bed. He'd helped him to and from the bathroom, even though Connor insisted he could do it himself. He'd changed his bedclothes—and helped him change his own clothes—and generally held vigil over him for two days. Connor appreciated all that, he really did—but it was time to get well.

"You sure you don't wanna come with us?" Angel had offered one more time. "It'll be fun. We'll get ice cream."

"You really think that's a good idea?" Connor had asked. "You do remember what happened last time?"

"He won't do it again," Angel said confidently.

"Well," Connor had said doubtfully. "Good luck."

* * *

Spike just needed attention. Angel knew that. He'd tried—he'd tried really hard—to divide his attention evenly between his two boys, but it was kinda difficult with Connor being practically bed-ridden for two days. Angel knew that was why his teenager had been a complete nightmare all day long, and Angel knew that Spike probably didn't even know that was why he felt like he did. Angel knew all that—but was that going to stop him from throttling him once he found him? Absolutely not.

Angel didn't know why he was always surprised by these things, but it seemed he always was, each and every time. Sure, Spike had been sullen and uncooperative, and he'd complained about every piece of clothing that Angel had suggested he get—but he didn't think the kid was upset enough to actually run away from him.

"When I get my hands on you..." he muttered to himself under his breath.

It shouldn't be this hard to get his hands on him. After all, Angel could sense Spike when he was near, almost enough to track him. The bond between them wasn't as strong as that between a sire and his direct creation, but it was still there. And if Angel couldn't feel it now... That must mean Spike had gotten further away than he'd anticipated. That thought startled him a little bit, and his anger and frustration drained and gave way to an icy fear.

"Spike!" he called, listening as his voice echoed off the sewer walls. "Spike! This isn't funny! You come out here right now!"

Angel stood stock still and listened for any sign of anything, but all he could hear was a steady drip of water plopping down somewhere behind him. Spike wasn't down there, which meant he was above ground—in the sun. Angel found a safe place to exit the sewer and took off down the nearest dark alley.

* * *

Spike was so dead. Angel was going to kill him, he was sure of it. He hadn't meant for things to go this far—he'd just wanted a moment to breathe. Well, not to breathe, but to be alone and think about how unfair the world was.

It was stupid, really, and as he crouched down behind the dumpster and hid, he felt immensely foolish for having acted the way he did. There were literal life and death situations occurring all around him, and he'd thrown a fit because Angel had refused to buy him that shirt he'd wanted. It had seemed incredibly unfair at the time—after all, Angel had bought him an entire closet full of stuff when he'd been a little … littler … boy, but this time? No. Angel said he didn't need a whole bunch of stuff, because he probably wouldn't be thirteen for much longer, so there was no sense in wasting money on things he didn't need.

"Wasting."

That was what Angel really thought of him—he was a waste. A waste of time. A waste of space. Angel could pretend he cared for him, but that was all it was, pretend. Angel didn't like _him_. Angel liked having a little boy. Angel liked playing daddy, and the only reason he'd taken Spike back was because he'd been a helpless, adorable child. Angel wasn't fooling him—he'd been glad he was gone, and as soon as he was big again, he'd be sorry he'd come back. Well, he wouldn't have to be sorry for long. Spike would leave. He would leave and he would stay gone forever this time, no matter what misfortune befell him.

Why wait until he was grown again? As soon as the sun set, Spike would be on a bus out of this town.

* * *

Angel glared at his cell phone as if it were the party responsible for this mess. Boy, he dreaded making that call, but he knew he had to do it. Connor would worry if he stayed out much longer and didn't check in. Connor would also find it amusing that he'd already managed to lose Spike.

"Shit, Dad, you what?" Connor asked, anything but amused.

"Relax. I'm gonna find him," Angel said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

"Okay, well, just stay put, and I'll meet you out there..."

"No, Connor, you stay home in case he shows up," Angel instructed. "He probably will, you know."

Connor made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat that Angel recognized because he often made it himself.

"Okay, I guess," Connor said reluctantly. "But call me every half hour until you find him."

"Will do."

* * *

Hours passed. Like, a lot of them. As promised, Angel called every half hour, but each time he sounded more and more hopeless, and Connor got tired of waiting. Angel would be mad, but Angel was always mad about something. Connor wasn't going to sit uselessly at home anymore. He was going out to help find his friend.

Man, Connor was good. He was damn good, because all he had to do was toss his jacket over his shoulder and open the front door, and there stood Spike. With a police officer. Oh God.

"Young man, this … other young man … can't possibly be your father," the police officer said skeptically.

"Er... No, not him," Spike said, searching his brain for a plausible lie. "This is..."

"I'm his uncle," Connor supplied easily. "What's the problem?"

"The problem," the officer said with a glower, "is that I just caught your nephew here breaking and entering down at the park. "

"Was not. I only entered. I didn't break," Spike muttered, and the officer shook him slightly by his collar.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Connor said, flashing his best charming smile. "I assure you that … Will's … father … my … brother … Well, it won't happen again."

"Is your brother home?" the office asked doubtfully.

"No, not right now. Sorry. He just ran out for awhile," Connor said.

"You got some I.D., kid?" the officer asked, suddenly suspicious again.

"Yeah, of course," Connor answered, pulling out his wallet and handing it over.

"Don't I know you?" the officer asked as he looked the license over.

Crap. Of course, it had to be Officer McTicket who'd brought Spike home.

"No, don't think so," Connor lied unconvincingly, which immediately made the officer narrow his eyes at him.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I do. You're that kid with the orange Mustang."

Connor sighed guiltily and gave a reluctant nod.

"Okay," the officer said, handing his license back slowly. "You wanna tell me why your 'nephew' has a Scottish accent and you don't?"

"Scottish!" Spike exclaimed hotly, pulling his shoulder out of the officer's grasp. "Scottish! I'm not bloody Scottish! I'm English!"

"Sp—William!" Connor scolded in a hushed tone. "Don't talk to him like that!"

"Well," Spike said, staring at the floor. "Any fool could tell the difference, 's'all I'm sayin'."

"I'm so sorry, officer," Connor said, jerking Spike away from the officer and putting an arm that was both protective and warning around him. "He lives in London with his mother most of the time. He's only visiting with us, and he hasn't quite caught on to those good American manners yet."

"Yeah, well," the officer replied, frowning as he finally turned to leave, "I'll be keeping an eye on you two. The only reason that boy's not down at juvenile hall right now is because all I found him doing was sitting by the pond. The next time I find him out getting into trouble, he won't be so lucky. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Connor replied immediately. "Thank you. We really appreciate you bringing him home."

"Scottish," Spike muttered as he left. "Do I sound Scottish?"

"You sound like someone who's gonna be in a world of trouble," Connor answered, shoving him slightly. "What the hell were you doing?"

Spike's face flamed unexpectedly as he realized he'd just been busted for feeding ducks. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. He'd failed to leave town, but he had spent the entire day and most of the night on the lam, so he needed to be apprehended doing something much more badass than that.

"I was killin' demons," he lied.

"What!" Connor said sharply. "Why were you out killing demons? Angel is going to kill you! He's worried sick!"

"Oh," Spike said, as if he truly hadn't considered the possibility. "You think he'll be mad, then?"

"Ha!" Connor replied.

"Oh," Spike said, dismayed. "Do you think he'll be _really _mad, then?"

"Why did you run off like that?" Connor demanded, ignoring the repeat question. "What on earth would make you think that was a good idea?"

"It's your fault," Spike said defensively.

"How do you figure?" Connor asked.

"You promised!" Spike almost shouted. "You said you'd go with me to the mall, and then you didn't go, and it was awful! It was every bit as awful as I'd thought it would be and worse! Angel wouldn't get me anything I liked, and when I asked him why, he threatened to take me to the bathroom and smack me!"

Connor tried to stifle the mixture of shock and amusement that was surely on his face, but Spike was too worked up to worry much about it.

"And he said it in front of a bunch of girls!" Spike continued, almost shaking he was so upset.

"I'm sure they didn't hear," Connor replied.

"That's what he said, but they did!" Spike said urgently. "They heard, because they kept looking at me and giggling!"

"Spike," Connor said thoughtfully, "how old were these girls?"

"What?" Spike asked, the question distracting him from his tirade.

"How old were the girls?" Connor repeated.

"I don't know. My age," he answered. "I mean, my age right now, I guess. Not my age normally."

"Then they were probably just looking at you and giggling because they thought you were cute, dude."

Oh.

Well.

Spike hadn't considered that.

He smiled a little bit before he caught himself.

"Anyway, Dad's gonna be so pissed," Connor said, grabbing Spike by the shoulders and steering him toward the kitchen. "So I suggest you get something to eat now and get ready for bed. I'm giving you ten minutes and then I'm calling him."

"Well, how much trouble do you think I'll be in, then?" Spike asked, gulping down some blood from Angel's favorite mug. "You're his kid; you tell me."

"I don't know," Connor answered, shaking his head. "I never got brought home by the cops."

"He's gonna thrash me," Spike said, nodding.

"I ... I don't really know what to tell you," Connor said uncomfortably. "Maybe you should just go upstairs and wait for him."

"You're sending me to my room?" Spike asked with a frown.

"Well... yeah," Connor answered, his resolve strengthening. "I suppose I am. You just wait 'til my father gets home!"

Spike snorted, but after a quick glance to see if Connor was serious, turned and slowly made his way up the stairs to his room.

Angel was gonna be so mad.

Good.

Let him be mad. That would serve him right for ignoring him for so long. Ignoring him? No, no. That wasn't why Spike was upset. He was upset because Angel was a total git and had called him a "waste" and embarrassed him out in public, not because he had been spending so much time with Connor that he hadn't had any left for him. Yeah. That was why. He'd pretty much have to deal with this situation—after all, he'd been brought home by the police! For causing trouble! Causing trouble certainly sounded serious.

After Spike had brushed his teeth and dressed in the only pajamas he had, Angel's red satin shirt, he picked up a softball and tossed it against the wall. It nicked the paint. Crap. He hadn't meant to do that. He put the ball under the bed so that he could deny ever having seen a softball if asked.

Spike sighed. Waiting just wasn't very much fun. And who knew when Angel would even get home! It could be hours. It could be days, even. Sometimes Angel took a long time to do stuff, what with him being so slow of mind and all. He was an old man to boot; he might have forgotten where he lived!

"Connor, can I come out now?" he shouted out his door when he couldn't take the waiting any longer.

"No!" Connor shouted back.

"Fine!" Spike yelled, and slammed the door.

He didn't know why he'd done that. It just felt like the right thing to do. Twenty seconds later when it suddenly flew open again, however, he could have sworn he felt his heart beat.

"Look," Connor said angrily. "I'm sorry that you went and got yourself into trouble, but you're just gonna have to take what comes. Do not slam this door at me again."

"I'm sorry," Spike said immediately, feeling his face flush with embarrassment from Connor's scolding. "I didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to what?" Angel asked as he ascended the stairs, his voice having a hard, rather unsettling edge to it. "Didn't mean to run off and stay gone for half the damn night?"

Connor saw that Angel was already taking his belt off, and though he wanted to intervene on Spike's behalf, his own sense of self-preservation kicked in and he just stepped aside and kept his mouth shut instead. Angel closed the door behind him, and Connor leaned his back against the wall and slid down into a sitting position in the hallway. He knew Angel wouldn't hurt him, not really—and hell, he kinda thought Spike deserved it—but that didn't make it any easier to listen to.

Connor sat there listening as Angel laid down the law and expressed his displeasure in the form of five good hard licks on what certainly sounded like bare flesh. He expected to hear more talking and scolding afterward, but Angel just threw the door open and stalked down the hall to his own room. As soon as his dad's door clicked closed, Connor heard the despondent sniffling from within Spike's room, and his heart went out to him. He knew Spike probably wanted to be alone, but he didn't care. He was going to go in there and hug him whether he liked it or not.


	25. Chapter 25

"Hey. You all right?" Connor asked, sitting beside the face-down Spike and gently rubbing his back.

Spike shook his head and refused to give a better answer. Connor knew that feeling. That feeling where his throat was so constricted with emotion that if he tried to speak, he'd surely cry so hard he could never stop.

"I'm sorry you got a whuppin'," he offered. "Been there. It sucks."

Spike didn't reply. If anything, he buried his face further into his pillow.

"Come on. Roll over and talk to me," Connor prodded, attempting to pull the boy over onto his back.

"Go away!" Spike ordered, his breath hitching. "Leave me alone!"

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me you're okay," Connor replied firmly.

"A-Angel h-hates me," Spike finally replied brokenly.

"What?" Connor asked. "What makes you say that?"

"I-It's true," he insisted, sobbing miserably. "He h-hates me."

"I'm sure that isn't true," Connor said soothingly. "Why don't you sit up and tell me about it?"

"No," Spike refused.

Connor sighed and went to Spike's bathroom to get him some tissue. When he returned with it, the boy had moved, but not to sit up. He was curled up on his side in the fetal position. If he hadn't looked so dejected, it might have been funny.

"Here," Connor said, thrusting the toilet paper into his hand. "Blow your nose and let's talk about it."

Spike shook his head again, but he made a visible effort to stop crying.

"I heard him," he finally said. "I heard him on the phone with Willow at the mall when he thought I wasn't paying any attention."

"You heard Angel?" Connor asked, and Spike nodded. "What did he say?"

"He said he wished he could have kept me little forever," Spike said sadly. "That he could actually stand having me around when I was like that."

"Oh," Connor said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm sure he didn't mean that like it sounded. He was probably just letting off some steam. You know."

Spike didn't know. All he knew was that all his unlifelong suspicions had finally been confirmed.

Angel hated him.

"...just say things sometimes, you know?" Connor was saying. "They don't mean them. I say things I don't mean all the time. They're just offhanded comments. It doesn't mean they're true. It's just... just smalltalk."

"No, he hates me," Spike insisted. "He said so."

"He did not say so," Connor firmly pointed out. "You just told me what you heard him say. And you probably shouldn't have been eavesdropping anyway. You'll only hear things you don't want to."

"He hates me," Spike said, working himself into fresh tears. "He smacked me real hard, too. 'Cuz he hates me."

"He spanked you because you scared the shit out of him and ran off in the daylight and wouldn't come back," Connor said, amazed to find himself defending his father on this point.

"And 'cuz I got brought h-home by the police," Spike added importantly.

"Shh," Connor whispered, placing a silencing, conspiratorial finger to his lips. "I didn't mention that part."

"Y-you didn't?" Spike asked, getting his new tears under control as best he could. "Why not?"

"Took pity on my kid brother?" Connor explained, shrugging.

Spike almost wished that Connor _had _told Angel about the police. That wouldn't have made the situation better, probably, but it would have made it … more impressive. The idea that he'd stayed gone all day and night just to come crawling back in the end was far less so. It wasn't just less than impressive—it was downright humiliating. He should have run from that cop instead of allowing himself to be dragged home.

Home.

Was this home? Was it really?

Yes, he supposed it was, and that thought only pissed him off more.

Spike had started to calm down in spite of himself, but his heart felt suddenly heavy again, and he blurted out a venomous,

"Well, if he hates me, then I hate him, too!"

"Fine," Connor said. "I give up. I guess you're right. I guess he hates you, then."

The harsh words shocked Spike so much that he actually stopped crying. He pulled himself into a sitting position and wiped at his face with the back of his hand. Connor picked up the unused, discarded tissue and pointedly thrust it back into his hands. Spike rolled his eyes but noisily blew his nose anyway.

"You don't really mean it, do you?" he asked after a moment. "You don't really think he hates me?"

"No, I don't," Connor admitted, reaching out to tousle Spike's wilting hair.

"Then why'd you say that?" he asked reproachfully.

"I don't know, but I'm glad it shut you up," Connor said lightly.

"I'm not stupid," Spike said seriously after a long moment of silence. "Me and your dad, we haven't always got along so great, you know? But I... I didn't think he _really_ hated me. I thought... I thought it was just how we were, how we acted together."

Connor didn't know what to say to that, so he just put his arm around him and rubbed his neck and shoulders.

"I'm sure it'll all work out," he offered. "You'll see."

"Yeah," Spike said dully.

"We need to get you into bed," Connor said gently. "You want something of mine to sleep in?"

"No way," Spike answered sincerely. "I look good in this shirt!"

Connor chuckled slightly. It seemed Spike could recover quickly from almost any situation.

"Connor?" Spike asked shyly as Connor had turned to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Could … Could I write in my diary first, before I go to bed?"

"You have a diary?" Connor asked.

Spike nodded, but didn't offer any other information.

"Sure, pal," Connor answered with a shrug. "Who am I to stifle your creativity?"

* * *

As he lay on his bed staring blindly at the ceiling and semi-unintentionally eavesdropping on the boys, Angel felt more and more wretched. He wasn't sorry about the belt, but he was terribly sorry that he'd hurt Will's feelings. He would talk to him tomorrow and make things right—just as soon as he went back to the mall and got all those things that he'd refused to buy him earlier. He was vaguely aware that that probably wasn't the best parenting tactic, and that he should just march his ass right back down the hall and talk to the kid now, but he just couldn't. He couldn't do it.

He didn't expect anyone to understand his reasoning, so he didn't intend to try and explain it to anyone. He wasn't sure he even understood. He just knew that he was conflicted. He missed his little Will so much, though he was trying very hard not to let the current version know that. Six-year-old William had been like a second chance—a chance to do things right. Spike wasn't Connor. He knew that. And he loved his son with all his heart, but when that little kid had shown up … it was just wonderful. And then when Spike had woken up a brand new teenager... Life was on repeat.

Angel didn't know how to deal with a teenager, obviously. The last time he'd had to, he'd kicked his own flesh and blood out of his house. This time around, he wanted to do the exact opposite—he wanted to keep Spike inside forever and never let him leave. He didn't want any person or circumstance to take Will away from him, but it seemed he kept managing to push him away on his own. He let out a deep, shaky sigh.

"...Angel?" Spike's soft voice whispered from his doorway, startling him.

Angel glanced at the clock. It was almost sunrise. He'd been lost in his own depressing thoughts longer than he'd realized.

"Yeah, champ?" he answered, trying to keep his voice even.

"Can I come in?" Spike asked timidly.

"Of course."

Spike apprehensively crossed the threshold of his grandsire's room, hoping that he wouldn't lose his nerve. He hadn't been able to go to sleep, even after he'd vented all kinds of hateful, hurtful words into his journal. His journal that Angel had given to him. As a gift. For no reason other than he thought it would help him.

"I'm sorry, Papa!" he exclaimed tearfully, and when Angel opened his arms to him, he ran and buried his face right in his grandsire's shirt. "I'm really sorry!"

"Oh, sweetheart," Angel cooed, kissing him on the head and hugging him tight. "Me too. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings like that. You know I don't hate you, right?"

"I … I said … hated you!" Spike lamented, blubbering rather incoherently as he crawled right up into Angel's lap like he'd done as a smaller child. "I told Connor … but … don't."

"Hush," Angel soothed. "Try to calm down. Everything is okay, right? You're here and you're safe, and that's all that matters."

It took some doing, including two glasses of water, a glass of blood, and lots of petting and sweet nothings, but Angel managed to get Spike calmed down enough to have a real conversation with him. He gathered him into his lap on the bed, even though Spike suddenly didn't seem like he much wanted to be there anymore, and rested his chin on that little blond-tipped head before asking quietly,

"Why did you run away from me?"

"You were making me mad," Spike answered honestly. "And embarrassing me."

"I told you those girls didn't hear what I said," Angel replied. "Besides, I wouldn't really have done that anyway."

"Would too," Spike sniffled.

"No, I wouldn't," Angel insisted. "I'd have waited until I got you home to bust your butt."

"Too old for that," Spike replied sullenly, though the lingering sting in his bottom suggested otherwise.

"Sorry, buddy, but I don't think you'll ever be too old," Angel said lightly.

Spike tried to pull out of Angel's arms, but he had too tight a hold on him, and Spike was pretty tired, so he didn't bother to keep fighting it.

"Sorry," he mumbled, figuring that should cover all of it.

"It's all right," Angel assured him. "I want to be very clear here. I don't hate you. In fact, I … I guess I love you. In any form."

Spike was so shocked that he couldn't reply for a moment. Was Angel telling him that he loved him all the time, big, little, or in between? That was certainly what it sounded like. Sure, Angel had told him he loved him a lot while he was a little kid, but he hadn't said it since the teenage transformation. And he'd certainly never said it under normal circumstances.

"I … okay," he whispered, unable to make himself say the words back.

"I hope you had a good day out," Angel said brightly, clearly not surprised or offended that his words of affection weren't returned, "because you're grounded for the rest of your life."

Spike rolled his eyes, not believing that in the least.

"You already hit me," he reminded him. "Isn't that enough?"

"No," Angel answered simply.

"It really hurt," Spike informed him, turning to give him a pout.

"Good."

"Not good," Spike protested. "I'm a hundred and … Well, I'm at least thirteen!"

"Yes," Angel answered, still cuddling him. "And do you know what thirteen is? A minor. A minor who can't have a job, or rent an apartment, or drive a car. A minor who is going to let me take care of him until he grows up … and maybe a little while after that, too."

"So I'm just your little plaything, is that it?" Spike asked, trying not to sound snotty but knowing he'd failed.

He didn't feel like a kid. Well, actually, he sort of did. But only sometimes. Sometimes, he had the clear-headed thoughts of his adult self. And those other times, he felt hateful and miserable and angry at the world. The problem was, only his adult mindset could seem to recognize when his teenage self was acting ridiculous, and when he went to those dark, teenage places, he couldn't seem to control himself. Things that were probably reckless seemed enticing, and ideas that were bad seemed good. And if Angel wanted to take care of him and help him through this—even if it did include rules and consequences and general unpleasantness—well, he supposed he should be grateful. No. He _was_ grateful.

Spike couldn't explain any of that to Angel—and Angel was too much of a lunkhead to understand anyway—so he expressed his feelings by wrapping his arms around his grandsire's neck and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He hopped off Angel's lap and fled from the room, grinning to himself at the look of shock that he was sure would remain plastered on his papa's face for days.


	26. Chapter 26

_Hi, guys. Thanks as always for the nice reviews and suggestions! I've been sick and haven't felt much like writing or doing anything else_. _This is kinda short and actionless, but it's all I've got in me right now._

* * *

Connor took yet another deep, steadying breath, stretched his neck, and flexed his arms as he paced nervously back and forth in front of the kitchen table. He was going to tell his father a thing or two, that was for sure. Well, maybe not for sure, exactly. But it was definitely the plan.

"Morning, pal," Angel said as he entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

"Dad," Connor said, half in greeting and half to get his attention.

"Yeah?" Angel asked, returning to the table and picking up the newspaper there without really giving Connor a second glance.

"Dad," Connor repeated, snatching the paper out of his hands. "Listen."

"Yeah?" Angel asked slowly, watching as Connor tossed the newspaper on the counter behind him.

"We need to talk."

Whew. There. He'd said it. It hadn't been so hard, either. He could do this.

"What is it, son?" Angel asked, not unkindly.

He had a feeling he knew exactly what Connor intended to say, but he'd hear him out anyway.

"Dad..." Connor stopped and cleared his throat nervously. "Um … About last night. You … I … I don't approve of how you handled it. That's right, I said it."

Angel did his best to hide the slight grin that was trying to spread across his face. He replaced it with the most serious look he could muster.

"You don't?" he asked.

"No," Connor said resolutely. "I mean, yeah, maybe he kinda deserved a … to get it, but you were harsh, Dad. You can't just … do that with the … the belt and then leave the room like that. It isn't right. You never did that to me, not like that. Kids need closure. They need to know that they've been forgiven. You should have seen how upset he was. He thinks you hate him!"

Angel nodded and took a long, infuriatingly calm drink of his coffee, but didn't reply. He simply invited Connor to continue with his gaze.

"He also heard you talking to Willow, apparently," Connor said. "And that didn't help matters."

"She said there's nothing she can do for him," Angel interjected. "But that she wouldn't mind some pictures."

"That's not the point!" Connor interrupted.

"Connor," Angel said firmly, trying not to get upset at the criticism because he knew that he really had no right to be. "I know you don't approve of my methods. But why don't you wait until you have a little hellion of your own who runs off and stays gone half the night—and I bet you will someday. If you can get through that without getting angry and losing your cool, then we'll talk about this again."

Angel neglected to include the part where he'd been scared out of his wits that something bad would happen to Will, and how having a child leave of his own volition managed to hurt so much more than having one taken from him.

"Fine, Dad. Whatever," Connor murmured, turning to make more coffee even though the pot wasn't empty.

This conversation hadn't quite gone like he'd envisioned it. In his vision, Angel saw reason and praised him for being right all along, and vowed never to spank in anger—it was too much to hope for never at all—again. But no, his dad was as stubborn and hardheaded as he always was.

"G'morning," Spike said as he entered the kitchen, much too chipperly, Connor thought.

He turned and eyed him suspiciously, and felt his jaw drop when he saw Spike give Angel a big hug before he ran straight to him and did the same.

"Um. Hi," Connor replied stupidly, still holding the half-full coffee pot out in front of him. "How … Uh … How did you sleep?"

"Good!" Spike replied, picking up the paper and bringing it back to the table, where he sat down easily beside Angel as if that were the most natural place for him to be.

"Can I have the Living section?" Angel asked.

"Yeah," Spike said, digging through the pages and handing over the requested sheets. "I only want the funnies anyway."

Angel looked up at Connor and gave him a wink, and somehow—even though it shouldn't have—that made it all better. He set the coffee carafe back on the warmer and started to join the rest of his family, but Spike interrupted him.

"Connor, can we have pancakes for breakfast?" he asked, not bothering to look up from Garfield.

"I … Yeah," Connor said. "I can do that. If you want. Dad? You want something, too?"

"Do we have strawberry topping?" Angel asked.

Connor didn't reply. He just shook his head disbelievingly, smiled, and got to work making breakfast. Spike certainly didn't look grown, but he seemed more like his old self—well, he did and he didn't. His old self wouldn't be sitting so close to Angel, especially not after the events of the previous night. They must have had some sort of interaction that Connor didn't know about. Either that, or Spike had the memory of a goldfish and some serious ADHD.

* * *

"Why?" Angel asked himself wearily. "Why does it always have to be like this?"

Spike had been fine. He'd been more than fine—he'd been happy, or so it seemed. That happiness had barely extended past breakfast, however, and now the teenager was throwing quite possibly one of the worst fits that Angel had ever witnessed.

He sidestepped another CD that came whizzing over the banister from above. He'd caught the first few, but this one he just let fall to the floor with a clatter. If Spike wanted to destroy all his music, fine. Let him. He would regret it, and then would Angel have mercy on him and buy him replacements? Absolutely not.

"You need to calm down right now!" Angel called again, sounding anything but calm himself.

"Sod off!" Spike yelled back.

Connor arranged himself more comfortably in his chair with his legs dangling off the side and continued to pretend to read. He'd been watching this spectacle since the beginning, but he didn't dare do anything to get himself involved.

"Why are you smiling?" Angel snapped, and it took a moment for Connor to realize he was speaking to him.

Damn. Had he been smiling?

"Sir?" he asked innocently.

"Don't you even—" Angel started, but he was interrupted by the softball that managed to whack him between the shoulders while his back was turned.

Connor winced sympathetically while his dad tried to play it off like it hadn't hurt.

"He was fine!" Angel exclaimed to his son. "What—I don't—he was fine!"

Angel sank down onto the couch and propped his head on his hands.

"You could always go up there and spank the daylights out of him again," Connor suggested semi-seriously.

"I'll spank _you_ if you keep up the sass," Angel threatened, but his tone indicated total defeat.

"Hey, I'm mindin' my own business," Connor said, turning back to his book.

"And I _hate_ you!" Spike shouted venomously before slamming his bedroom door—the door that Angel had finally fixed for him that very morning.

Angel let out a sigh of relief. At least if the little monster was in his room feeling sorry for himself, he wouldn't be throwing any more projectiles for awhile.

"I don't understand this," he mumbled. "I told him last night he was grounded. Why is he just now so surprised by the news?"

"You told him he was grounded," Connor said simply, keeping his eyes trained on page ninety-eight. "You probably didn't tell him that meant no TV, huh?"

"He should have known," Angel argued.

"How?" Connor challenged. "How would he have known what you meant unless you were specific? He probably thought you just meant he couldn't go out and do anything."

"He already couldn't go out and do anything," Angel said.

"Exactly," Connor said, nodding. "So it didn't matter that much, did it? But when you took away television, well... You know how much he loves television."

"I can't do anything right," Angel said with disgust.

"Dad, are you not listening?" Connor asked with a smirk. "You nailed this one. He _loves television. _He loves television more than he hates getting spanked. Obviously."

"You never acted that way when I grounded you," Angel said, frowning as the discord of loud punk music from upstairs suddenly assaulted his ears.

"Yeah, well, I _really _hated—hate," Connor amended with a slight blush, "getting my ass beat. Plus, who knows how I would have reacted at thirteen? I like to think I was a little more reasonable by the time you became my dad."

"I have _always_ been your dad!" Angel reacted passionately. "Always!"

"Oh, I-I know," Connor said awkwardly, searching for some way to backpedal out of that wrong choice of words, but not succeeding. "You know what I meant."

"No, you're right. I missed your whole childhood," Angel lamented, leaning back in his seat and pressing his fingers almost painfully into his closed eyes. "I wish I could do it again, Connor. I'd do it right if I could."

Connor sighed. Angel was about to descend into one of his self-loathing spirals, and it was sometimes hard to bring him back.

"Dad," he said, finally abandoning his book for good and sitting down close beside his father. "We've been over this. I know you _now_. I love you _now. _None of the rest of it matters."

Angel put his arm around his son and was pleased when Connor leaned into him and rested his head on his chest. The vampire knew he was being dramatic again—Connor was always calling him on that—and he knew that his boy didn't deserve to be put through the wringer of his many mood swings, so he tried to pull himself together.

"I wish I could have seen you as a child," he murmured, unable to let the topic go completely. "Even just once..."

"Dad, if you're getting any ideas about having Spike's curse put on _me_!" Connor exclaimed, pulling back in alarm. "No way in Hell. Nuh uh and no how."

"What?" Angel asked, and his nervous laugh didn't much put Connor's mind at ease. "Son, I would never do that to you!"

But maybe, just maybe, for the tiniest, most fleeting of moments, the thought had crossed his mind.

"I mean it, Dad!" Connor said resolutely. "No fucking way. I am serious here."

"Connor, I promise," Angel said quickly. "I wasn't thinking anything of the sort."

"Well, just … see that you keep it that way," Connor said warily as he got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Angel asked.

"I'm gonna go talk to baby brother," Connor said, pointing upstairs.

"Oh, good," Angel said. "To see if you can calm him down?"

"No," Connor said wryly, shaking his head and giving Angel a half-smile that wasn't exactly pleasant. "To commiserate about dear old Dad."


	27. Chapter 27

Connor crossed Spike's room and turned the music down, but not off. Spike jumped a little, not having heard him come in, and hid his journal in which he'd been furiously scribbling quickly underneath his pillow.

"What do you want?" he asked hoarsely, not bothering to raise his head from the pillow.

"Oh, not much," Connor replied casually, having a seat next to his friend. "Just thought I'd warn you. Dad's on his way up here with a switch. Said something about never sitting down again. Not sure what he was talking about..."

"What!" Spike said, sitting bolt upright in alarm.

Connor snorted.

"Just kidding."

"That's not funny!" Spike spat hotly, immediately flopping back down onto his bed.

"No, it isn't funny," Connor agreed. "And neither was that temper tantrum you just threw. For—what was it, an hour?"

"Shut up."

"It was impressive, however long it was," Connor continued, unfazed.

"Get out."

"You know, you get away with a lot more than I think I would have at that age," Connor commented. "If I'd hit Angel in the back with a softball... I don't even want to think about it."

"I hit him?" Spike asked quietly.

"Yeah. You sorry you did that?"

"Only sorry it didn't hit him in the head instead," Spike muttered.

He'd had no idea he'd actually hit anyone with anything. He'd just started blindly throwing things out the door without much thought as to where they'd land.

"He's really not coming up here after me?" he checked, unable to stop himself from glancing at his bedroom door a couple times.

"Not that I know of," Connor answered with a bemused smile. "Why, did you want him to?"

Maybe.

"Well, it wouldn't matter if he did. I'm not afraid of him. I don't care."

Connor thought the way Spike's lip jutted out in that defiant pout was, well, rather adorable, but he knew that was _not_ something a thirteen-year-old would want to hear.

"You don't care?" he asked, landing a solid whack on Spike's bottom. "Guess that didn't bother you, then?"

"Stop!" Spike exclaimed, rolling over to face Connor and to get his backside out of harm's way.

He knew Connor was only playing, but it had still kinda hurt.

Connor raised his arm dramatically high like he was about to go for it again, and Spike sat up with a huff and leaned his back against the wall.

"What are you, queer?" he asked.

"Hey, now. That's just ugly," Connor scolded.

"You're the one trying to touch my arse," Spike pointed out.

Connor lunged for him and got him in a headlock, and before either of them even realized it, they were rolling around on the bed laughing and wrestling like brothers. Spike was tough for such a scrawny little thing, and he managed to twist Connor's arm behind him at a satisfyingly uncomfortable angle.

"Okay, okay," Connor said, still laughing. "I give up, all right? Let go."

"Say uncle," Spike directed.

"Uncle," Connor replied immediately.

"Say Uncle Spike," Spike ordered, changing his mind.

Connor laughed, but noticed that his arm got the slightest bit more pained when he did.

"Okay, okay! Uncle Spike," he relented. "Happy?"

"Now say 'Uncle Spike is the best in the whole world, and I'll do anything he tells me to because I am a little pansy.'"

"In your dreams!" Connor protested, finally wriggling free and falling back into an exhausted heap on Spike's messy bed.

That had been fun, but Spike felt awkward now, even though he wasn't entirely sure why. Connor had gone quiet, and he didn't know what to say to break the uncomfortable silence, so he played with the fraying hem of his—well, Connor's—jeans.

"So..." he finally started. "What did you want, then?"

"Hmm?" Connor asked absently, staring at the ceiling.

"What'd you want?" Spike repeated. "With me?"

"Oh. I guess I just wanted to tell you that it won't last forever, the being grounded thing. So don't take it so hard. Dad's just trying to … Well, I don't know exactly what he's trying to do, but he's trying very hard at it."

"Your dad is a git," Spike said petulantly.

"Maybe," Connor said noncommittally. "But he's all we've got."

"That's not true," Spike pointed out. "You've got a whole other family that loves you."

"Yeah," Connor agreed. "That's true. A whole other family with made-up memories of me."

"Oh, now what's this?" Spike scoffed. "Now you're feeling sorry for yourself? 'Oh, boo hoo, look at me, I've got _two _great lives to deal with! Life is so bloody hard!'"

Connor reached out and socked Spike on the arm.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he murmured. "...Listen. This curse that this Harmony chick had put on you... How difficult do you think it was?"

"I dunno," Spike answered warily. "I was asleep—all right, I was passed out piss drunk—when it happened."

"Wow, really?" Connor answered, unsure why that news was so surprising. "Didn't that like, mess you up when you turned into a little kid?"

"Yeah, that's why I act out now," Spike joked. "I've got major childhood issues, you know."

"Mmm," Connor murmured.

"Listen, mate, you don't want this," Spike said seriously. "Whatever stupid idea is in your head, just stop thinking it. This hasn't been easy on me."

"Yeah, but it's just temporary, right?" Connor asked. "I mean, it'll go away. And I … I don't know."

"You do know," Spike said. "You're thinking it might be something nice to do for Angel, to go and get yourself all cute and shrunk. Well, forget it. It sucks being like this, and you get in trouble for everything."

Connor laughed incredulously.

"What?" Spike asked defensively. "It's true!"

"You've had it easy, dude," Connor said, shaking his head. "I'm … Well, I guess I'm kinda jealous."

"Whatever!" Spike protested. "This has _not _been easy! I even breathe wrong and Angel's all over me about it."

"You don't breathe," Connor said with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, if I wanted to, he'd probably smack me for it."

Connor chuckled, and after a moment, Spike had to join in. The idea was pretty absurd—though he wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't true.

"Your CD ended," Connor noted.

"Yeah," Spike said.

"Dad hates your music," Connor informed him.

"Good."

"You want me to turn it back on on my way out?" Connor offered.

"Please," Spike said, stretching out and lacing his fingers underneath his head. "And turn it back up, too, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing."


	28. Chapter 28

_I put up Chapter 27 today as well, so don't miss it. I was going to put these two together as one chapter, but there was this pesky problem where I only had half of it written but really wanted to go ahead and update._

_Do let me know what you think of the idea of a "cursed" Connor. I'm hearing some positive things, but the jury is still out.  
_

_I am feeling much better now. Thank you for the well-wishes!  
_

* * *

Spike sighed and rolled over again. He could hear the laughter and the clattering of weapons, and he was so tired of listening to it. They'd been down there training for hours, it seemed. Connor had invited him to watch, but he wasn't quite ready to show his face. Still, he was getting pretty hungry, and he was certain he could make it to the kitchen and back with a glass of blood without having to deal with the fam damily.

He really wanted to take the elevator, but the guys would probably hear that and come up to see what was going on, so he did something else he'd always wanted to do and slid down the banister instead. It was a lot of fun, and he didn't even fall and break his face like he was sure Connor would have said would happen. He'd have to remember to do it in front of him purely for the shock value.

A movement at the front doors caught his eye. He started to ignore it, but when no one came in and there was no knock, curiosity got the better of him, and he strode across and flung the door open.

"Oh. Hello," a little boy greeted him uncertainly. "I was... Um..."

"Tommy!" Spike exclaimed.

He'd almost completely forgotten about little Tommy, who was eight and lived down the street with his mum and liked chicken strips.

"Yeah," Tommy said slowly. "Do I know you?"

"Oh," Spike said with a frown, but he quickly recovered. "I bet you're looking for Will, huh? He's my little brother."

"Oh," Tommy said, clearly confused, and Spike tried to remember which of his many fibs might have brought on that look.

"I bet he told you he was an only child, didn't he?" he asked, and Tommy nodded. "Yeah. He's a compulsive liar."

"Oh," Tommy said again, and Spike began to wonder if that was all the kid could say.

"Well, he's not here," Spike said.

"Oh. I just wanted to tell him happy birthday, and see if he could come out and play for a little while," Tommy explained.

"Birthday?" Spike asked. "Oh, right! Is it … Thursday already?"

"Yeah. So, where is he?" Tommy asked. "If he's not here?"

"Went home to England," Spike lied.

"Why didn't you go with him?" Tommy asked suspiciously.

"None of your bloody business," Spike snapped.

"Okay," Tommy said with a shrug. "See ya."

"Wait," Spike said. "Do you … I don't know, wanna come in for a bit, or something?"

"I don't know if I'm allowed," Tommy said hesitantly.

"It's fine," Spike said dismissively. "I won't bite you."

"Your dad won't mind?" Tommy asked. "Is he home?"

"He won't mind," Spike said, though he had no idea if Angel would mind or not, and he didn't especially care, either.

"I don't know. You just come outside instead," Tommy suggested.

"Can't," Spike said. "I'm grounded."

"Oh. You guys sure get in trouble a lot."

"Yeah," Spike said with a wicked grin that somehow convinced Tommy to come in.

"Wanna come see my room?" Spike asked.

"Okay," Tommy agreed.

Tommy didn't seem much impressed by Spike's room, but he sat politely on the bed and looked around anyway. Spike felt suddenly at a loss. Mere days ago, he'd felt like he had all kinds of things in common with this kid, but now... He didn't even know what they were supposed to talk about.

"Hey, you've got a little brother, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tommy said, nodding. "He didn't want to come. He didn't like Will much."

"Git," Spike muttered.

"Git?" Tommy asked curiously. "What's that mean?"

"You know, git?" Spike asked. "Sod? Wanker?"

"Wanker?" Tommy asked with a delighted giggle.

"Oh," Spike said with a guilty smile. "Maybe you shouldn't go repeating that one, all right? The last thing I need is your mum calling my dad and telling him I'm corrupting the local youth."

"Wanker," Tommy repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth and ignoring everything Spike had just said. "I like that one."

"Yeah, me too," Spike agreed. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level and added, "And it means just what you'd think it means."

"Cool. What's your name?" Tommy asked.

"My name?" Spike said back stupidly. "It's..."

"You do have one, right?" the little boy asked.

"Of course I have a name!" Spike snapped. "It's..." He racked his brain and blurted out the second name that came to mind. "Liam. My name is Liam."

"Oh. Cool name," Tommy said, clearly impressed. "It sounds foreign or something."

"Yeah, well," Spike said. "I am foreign or something, so I guess that's okay."

The first name that had come to mind had been Billy, but Spike was tremendously glad he hadn't gone with that. He doubted that eight-year-old Tommy would have given it a second thought, but in case he had, he didn't want to have to come up with a plausible explanation for why his parents had two sons both named William. Liam was far enough off that—even if it was Irish—that the easygoing kid didn't seem to question it.

"So, what do you do for fun here, Liam?" Tommy asked.

"Nothing," Spike answered.

"Oh. You have this whole hotel, and there's nothing fun to do?"

"I'm kidding. I have fun. I'm a fun guy."

"Yeah," Tommy said, unconvinced. "Do you have any toys or anything?"

Spike sat up and went to the closet, where he pulled out several trash bags of all the little kid toys he'd stored there. He dumped the contents of one of them on the floor and was pleased when Tommy's eyes lit up.

"Wow, cool stuff!" he exclaimed, immediately dropping to the floor to inspect the contents.

"Yeah," Spike said. "Anything there you want? I … Will's gone for good … um … back to England, I mean, so he doesn't need this stuff anymore."

"You're giving away your brother's toys?" Tommy asked with a frown. "Couldn't your dad just mail this stuff to him? Are you sure he won't mind?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Spike said reassuringly. "Take whatever you want. Anything your little brother might want, too, even if he is a git."

"Wanker," Tommy corrected.

"Right."

Spike dropped to the floor with Tommy, and soon they were both so caught up playing with all those toys that he failed to notice that the noises from the basement had stopped. When his bedroom door opened and Angel poked his head in, Spike knew he must have looked like the guiltiest person on earth.

"Hi... Ang—Pa—um," Spike said, at a loss for how to refer to Angel in the presence of his newly reacquired friend. "Angel. Tommy, this is Angel … my dad."

"Oh," Tommy said, getting awkwardly to his feet and looking almost as guilty as Spike. He murmured aside to the teenager, "I thought that other man was your dad?"

"Who, Connor?" Spike asked with a laugh. "No, he's … someone else."

"What about me?" Connor asked, poking his head over Angel's shoulder and drying his hair with a towel.

"Oh," Tommy said with a knowing nod. "You have two dads. I get it."

"What! No!" Connor exclaimed, shoving past Angel, who'd still not spoken a word. "I'm Connor. I'm the uncle."

"Oh. I'm Tommy."

"Yeah, I know. I screamed at you once," Connor said. "Sorry 'bout that."

Tommy shrugged.

"No problem. I … I guess I should go home now."

"Wait!" Spike said, gathering up the stuff he'd seen Tommy take the most interest in and placing it into one of the empty garbage bags. "Don't forget your toys."

Tommy glanced hesitantly toward Connor and Angel, who only looked briefly confused before both nodding their approval.

"Thanks!" Tommy said. "This stuff is awesome! Bye, Liam!"

Tommy took his bag and mumbled a hurried goodbye to the adults in the room before dashing out the door and down the stairs.

"Liam?" Angel mouthed once he heard the front door slam.

"Well, I-I had to tell him something!" Spike stammered out defensively. "He just showed up, and he wondered where I was … well, little me, I mean … and what was I supposed to do? I know I'm grounded, but..."

Spike shrugged and let his gaze fall to the floor. He was out of excuses and out of energy to craft any new ones.

"It's fine," Angel said, reaching out and tipping his chin up. "I'm not mad."

"Really?" Spike asked.

"Weird kid," Connor commented lightly, still toweling his wet hair.

"You're weird!" Spike said, coming to his new friend's defense. "Tommy's fine. He's just little."

"I didn't mean Tommy," Connor said dryly.

"Connor, would you mind if I talked to Spike alone for a few minutes?" Angel asked.

Spike groaned. Angel was mad, he knew it!

"Relax," Angel said, rolling his eyes.

Spike watched Connor's retreating back with longing.

"It was an accident," he said as soon as the door closed. "I'll go right back to being grounded, right now. See, I'm cleaning up these toys. I'll put them in the closet and I won't touch them again, I promise."

Yeah, okay, so maybe being in even more trouble with Angel made Spike a wee bit nervous. Provoking him was one thing, but getting caught red-handed playing with the neighbor kid when he was supposed to be on lock-down was another. It made him feel … bad.

"Will," Angel said, shaking his head. "It's okay. I'm glad you made a friend. Chill out."

Spike looked doubtfully at his grandsire before perching himself on the edge of his bed and wondering what was coming to him. He expected a bawling out, but Angel just looked him up and down for a few agonizing seconds—which felt like hours—before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small plastic box.

"That was really nice, what you did for that kid," Angel said, fiddling with the box and turning it over and over in his hands. "Giving him your toys. That was sweet."

Spike shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't feel particularly sweet, ever.

"Here. I got you this," Angel finally said, handing the box to him.

Spike took it dumbly and stared at it for a few seconds before it sank in what he was holding.

"You got me an iPod?" he said incredulously.

Angel smiled uncertainly. Spike seemed to like it, but he couldn't really tell for sure. He wanted him to like it, but Spike's face crumpled and he looked as if he would cry at any moment.

"Is … Is it not okay?" Angel asked gently.

"Why did you get me a gift?" Spike asked hotly, trying with all his might not to break down into tears. "And it's one of the newest ones, too, with the touch screen!"

"Well, yeah," Angel said awkwardly. "I thought … I thought you'd like it."

"I can't take this," Spike said, thrusting the box back into Angel's hand and throwing himself face-first into his pillow.

"Hey, I … I don't understand, pal," Angel said, sitting down next to his crying boy and rubbing his back.

"I was horrid!" Spike shouted into his pillow. "I was horrid to you, and you got me a gift! What is _wrong_ with you?"

Angel laughed and tried to pull Spike up, but the kid played dead weight and he gave up and settled for continuing to pat his back.

"Yeah, Connor asked me the same thing," he admitted. "Something about reinforcing negative behavior, blah blah blah. I don't know. He took a lot of psych classes in college. Sometimes my eyes glaze over when he talks..."

Spike laughed even though he tried not to, and he started coughing so hard on his tears that he eventually had to sit up to get calmed down.

"I thought you were gonna wallop me for sure, and you give me a gift instead," he mumbled, shaking his head. "That's messed up. You're messed up."

Angel shrugged.

"Maybe I am. Maybe we all are."

"When did you even get it?" Spike asked.

"When I went back to the mall to get your clothes," Angel answered easily.

"You went back and got clothes?" Spike asked, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. "The ones I wanted? Not the dorky ones you liked?"

"Some of both," Angel admitted. "They're in my office. You can come down later and get them if you like."

"Angel," Spike said, nearly at a loss. "You didn't … I shouldn't … I was horrid, Angel. You shouldn't have done that, not any of it."

"Yeah, well," Angel said, putting his arm around him and pulling him in for a sideways embrace. "I do a lot of stuff I shouldn't do. Ask Connor. I think he keeps a running list in Notepad on his laptop..."

Spike laughed and hugged Angel hard around the neck.

"So, do you want it after all, or should I take it back?" Angel asked, holding the iPod out to him.

"I want it," Spike said timidly. "But … But maybe I don't deserve it just yet. Maybe you should keep it for me until I'm not grounded anymore."

"If you're sure," Angel said, but he pushed it further toward Spike as he said it.

"No," Spike said, losing all resolve. "I … I was just trying to be all noble and stuff. I want it now!"

"That's my boy," Angel said affectionately, relinquishing the gift and watching as Spike delightedly tore open the plastic wrap.

"And," Angel tried to add casually, "you know, you can listen to your music now with the headphones on, loud as you want."

"Ear buds," Spike corrected.

"Huh?"

"Ear buds," Spike repeated, pulling the dangling cords out so Angel could see. "They're little now, and they're called ear buds."

"I see," Angel said, frowning.

Spike realized that maybe Angel's gift hadn't been completely altruistic after all, but hell, he didn't care! He got an iPod! And permission to use it even though he was grounded! Speaking of which...

"So, does this mean I'm not grounded anymore?" he asked hopefully.

"Ha," Angel scoffed. "Not a chance. I told you. The rest of your life."

"Okay," Spike said good-naturedly, but Angel didn't seem to question it.

Spike felt guilty, incredibly guilty, taking a present that he knew he didn't deserve. And he knew he'd feel even guiltier later when Connor helped him get it set up. And he'd feel guiltier still when he caught up on all those streaming episodes of his programs that he'd missed. He snorted, amused, but got it in check before Angel could ask him what was so funny. His poor, naïve Papa. Angel could barely work the television remote—he certainly didn't have a clue about wireless internet capabilities and real-time streaming.

Yeah, Connor was right—he shouldn't take being grounded so hard. After all, it really wasn't the end of the world.


	29. Chapter 29

Spike stretched and yawned a satisfying yawn. Man, he felt good! He didn't know when he'd ever gotten a night's sleep as refreshing as that one had been. He wouldn't have even gotten out of bed had he not been famished. But the prospect of a deliciously warm mug of blood was too enticing, so he reluctantly swung his legs over the side of his bed and let his feet hit the floor with a thump.

Oh, wow! That was a big thump. His feet had grown! They'd grown a lot! He wiggled his toes appreciatively before fully comprehending what it all meant.

"Papa!" he shouted excitedly as soon as the realization hit that he'd probably grown all over, not just in the shoe department.

He covered his mouth and giggled, and he wasn't even embarrassed that he'd done it. His voice no longer squeaked, but if he was yelling out for "Papa," then perhaps he hadn't quite fully recovered. He waited a moment for the feelings of rage and utter injustice with the world to wash over him, but they didn't. Papa didn't come running, either, so he hopped up and made his way to Angel's room.

"Papa, wake up!" he demanded cheerfully, bouncing hard on his grandsire's bed and watching as Angel reluctantly opened his eyes.

"Spike," he said, inhaling deeply. "What … What's going on? What's wrong?"

"I grew!" Spike exclaimed happily. "Wake up and tell me what I look like!"

It was a real struggle, but Angel managed to sit up and give Spike a once over.

"Wow," he said after a moment.

"Yeah?" Spike asked excitedly. "How old now, do you reckon?"

Angel shrugged.

"I'm not so good with guessing ages," he said apologetically. "You should probably ask Connor. But … Sixteen? Maybe seventeen?"

"All right!" Spike cheered, pumping the air with his fist. "Seventeen! How great is that?"

"Pretty great, I guess," Angel answered uncertainly. "But remember, I said _maybe _seventeen. How... How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

"Hmm."

"Don't tell Connor; I want to surprise him," Spike ordered.

"Surprise him with the news that you feel fantastic?" Angel asked.

"No, dummy, the news that I grew!"

Angel couldn't help but smile. Spike was so happy, and that made him happy, too—but it also made him cautious. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Will so pleased... Was it a trick? He hadn't quite ruled out his grandchilde's new-found happiness as some sort of horrible deception with disastrous consequences just waiting to be visited upon them all... But maybe he was just being dramatic again.

After all, teenagers could be happy and agreeable, right? Connor never had been, but Connor's childhood hadn't exactly been ideal, either.

"What are we doing today?" Spike asked, slipping down into the sheets beside Angel and claiming a pillow as if he planned to stay for awhile.

"I don't know," Angel said, making a conscious effort to keep the wary look off of his face. "Those of us who aren't grounded will probably try to do a little work so we can pay the bills."

"Aww, come on," Spike said, flashing him his most charming grin—and it really was charming, Angel had to admit. "You're not holding that over me still, are you?"

"I told you—"

"I know, I know," Spike interrupted. He deepened his voice to mimic Angel's sternest tone. "'Grounded for the rest of my life.' But you don't really mean that, Angel."

"Do so."

"Do not."

"Those of us who _are_ grounded, however," Angel continued, forcing himself to ignore the interruption, "should probably put on some pants at some point in the day."

Spike lifted up the covers to look down at his bare legs, flexed his calves, and shrugged.

"Why?"

"Because, you need to be decent," Angel said. "Especially if you insist on sitting in _my _bed."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"You've seen me in my skivvies loads of times," he pointed out. "And I you. I'm pretty sure you're in yours now..."

"Yeah, well, just … just do it, okay?" Angel said uncomfortably, peeling himself out of his bed and pulling his blankets off and around him as he headed toward his bathroom.

"None of my stuff's going to fit now, you know," Spike said nonchalantly as he continued to sprawl blanketless on Angel's bed. "All the clothes you bought me. But that's okay. I'll wear them anyway."

Angel sighed.

"You don't have to try to wear them," he said. "We'll figure something else out."

"No, really, it's fine," Spike said agreeably. "I … thank you for getting them for me. Did you see the size of my feet? I'll bet I can fit into _your _shoes now!"

He looked around the bed until he found a pair of Angel's boots and tentatively stuck his right foot down into one. Almost a perfect fit! How cool was that?

Angel seemed to be terribly busy brushing his fangs or his hair or something, so Spike sauntered to his closet and began rummaging through everything in there. Angel normally didn't allow him near his clothing—or, well, in his room at all, so the thrill of this illicit closet shopping was pretty high. Oh, this fancy blue shirt would fit him for sure, and he'd look smashing in it, too! Why did Angel even bother to buy such a piece of clothing for himself when clearly it would look so much better on Spike?

"What are you doing?" Angel asked around a mouthful of toothpaste when he finally poked his freshly-laundered head out the bathroom door.

The sight before him was comical, yet strangely disturbing. Spike was sporting one Doc Marten and one bare foot, and had his arms halfway into one of Angel's silk shirts. Still no pants. Of course.

"Oh," Spike said, grinning sheepishly. "Can I borrow this?"

"I guess," Angel said uncomfortably. "I mean, since you've already got it on…"

"Can I have these, too?" Spike asked, pulling a long-forgotten pair of leather pants out from the back of the closet and holding them up to his waist. "I think they'll fit."

"If you can get those on, I never want them back," Angel said.

Spike shrugged. He wasn't sure exactly what Angel had meant by that comment, but he pulled the pants off the hanger and started to squeeze into them before realizing that they probably weren't going to make it too far past that one boot. He shook it off his foot and got the pants on, doing a little hop to get them up the last couple of inches. Seriously, if they were this tight on him, how did Angel ever even get into them at all?

"How do I look?" he asked as he zipped up the fly.

"Very … leathery," Angel replied.

"What kind of answer is that?" Spike asked. "Take my picture for me! You can do it with my iPod!"

Spike sprinted back to his own room, tight leather trousers squeaking the whole way, and retrieved his new prized possession. He set it up so all Angel would have to do would be to push one button.

Naturally, Angel messed up the picture anyway.

But that was okay.

Spike loved him anyway.

* * *

_Yes, I know. I disobeyed direct orders and made Spike grow up a little more. Shame on me and stuff.  
_


	30. Chapter 30

_Where did all that time go that has passed between updates? Gah. I'm working on my stories, both of them. I promise and stuff._

* * *

Connor rolled over and opened his eyes only to be unexpectedly face-to-face with a slightly bigger Spike than he'd known the night before.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, instinctively covering his heart with his hand.

"Nope," Spike said with a cheeky grin. "Just me."

Connor reached out and shoved him hard on the shoulder.

"You can't just sneak up on people like that!" he admonished. "You'll give a guy a heart attack."

"I didn't sneak," Spike said defensively. "You're just slow."

"Well, you scared me," Connor said. "So don't do it again."

"Whatever," Spike said easily. "Are you getting up today or what?"

"Huh?" Connor asked sleepily. "Why, what time is it?"

"Late," Spike insisted. "So come on. Up. We have things to do."

Connor squinted toward his clock.

"It's not even eight!" he protested. "Forget it. I'm going back to sleep!"

"No," Spike said, jabbing him hard in the ribs. "You're getting up. I want to go out."

"Aren't you like, still grounded?" Connor reminded him.

"Oh, Papa doesn't mean that," Spike said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Besides, he's not here. He went out."

"Oh, if Papa says it, he generally means it," Connor argued. "I'm not aiding and abetting you to go anywhere if he told you that you can't. And why did he go out, anyway? Did the sun take the day off? You two seem to perpetually forget that sunlight burns you up."

"Come on!" Spike coaxed, ignoring the question. "I'm all dressed up with lots of places to go! I just need someone to help me get there..."

"All dressed up?"

Connor looked Spike up and down, really seeing him for the first time that morning. Wow. That was some getup.

"Why are you wearing girls' pants?" he asked.

"What?" Spike said, frowning down at his leather-clad thighs. "These aren't girls' pants!"

"Uh, yeah, they are," Connor said. "I know girls' pants when I see them, and those are girls' pants."

"Can't be," Spike scoffed. "I got them straight out of Angel's closet!"

"I don't care where you got them," Connor insisted. "Those are girls' pants. You think Dad could fit into those?"

Spike wrinkled his nose and had to admit that Connor had a point. They were pretty small, and Angel had some chub on him. It wasn't something they talked about, but it was true!

"Well, no matter," he said. "They look good on me, right?"

"They look like girls' pants," Connor said noncommittally.

"Come on, let's go out!" Spike said again, bouncing up and down impatiently.

"Where exactly are you wanting to go?" Connor asked suspiciously. "It's not like I can take you to the beach or anything."

"I was thinking we could run out to a store or something," Spike said nonchalantly, tracing an invisible pattern on Connor's bedspread.

"For what, candy?" Connor asked, his tone dripping with skepticism.

"You know, stuff," Spike said, finding he was unable to meet his friend's gaze.

"I'm not buying you alcohol!" Connor nearly shouted, jumping up from the bed and pulling on the nearest pair of jeans he could find. "So you can just forget it!"

"I did it for you all the time!" Spike reminded him with a pout.

"I don't care. Dad would kill me if he found out!" Connor said, huffing around the room as he got dressed the rest of the way.

"I didn't even want booze," Spike said, though he was clearly disappointed. "Hard to buy the good stuff this early in the morning anyhow. I just need you to get me a pack of smokes, that's all…"

Connor barked a short, incredulous laugh.

"No way," he said, shaking his head. "No way in Hell."

"Aww, why not?" Spike asked imploringly. "Please? You know I don't look old enough to buy them right now."

"That's because you _aren't_ old enough to buy them right now," Connor pointed out. "And therefore, you will not _get_ them right now."

"Then just lend me some cash and I'll find someone else to buy them for me," Spike suggested helpfully.

"No."

Spike made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. Connor was just like Angel sometimes, a wet blanket on the ground covering up a giant stick in the mud.

"You didn't even congratulate me on growing up, by the way," he informed him, jutting his chin out impertinently.

"Congrats," Connor said shortly. "You're bigger, but you're not grown up, and I'm not buying you cigarettes. Forget it."

"Please, Connor," Spike begged, using every persuasive facial expression he could muster up. "It's not like I'm asking you to murder someone for me."

"I said forget it!" Connor spat angrily. "Dad already told me that you're not allowed to take up smoking again, probably not ever, and I'm not helping you get my ass in trouble."

"You won't get in trouble," Spike insisted. "Angel doesn't even have to find out. I'm really good at hiding things!"

"That doesn't make it better," Connor said flatly. "Get out of my room."

"Connor..."

"No," Connor said, pointing toward the door. "I'm not discussing this with you anymore. Get out of my room and go to yours."

Spike let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes, but he did head for the door. Connor was being completely unreasonable! He hadn't had a single cigarette in ages, and he was dying for one! Well, maybe not dying, exactly, but... He wanted one real bad! And it wasn't like they were going to hurt him. He was already dead! He should be allowed to smoke a bleedin' cigarette if he wanted one. Besides, he used to do all kinds of things for Connor when he was underage. He took him to pubs and bought him booze and pointed out pretty girls for him... And Connor wouldn't even buy him a pack of smokes? Some kind of gratitude that was.

Well, he wasn't thirteen anymore. He'd get his way eventually, one way or another. What would make things easier would be if he had a car. Yeah, that was what he needed, a car! Then he could go anywhere he wanted, whenever he wanted, and do whatever he wanted to do while he was there, and he wouldn't have to be stuck in the same house with two total drags. That would be awesome.

Hey, Connor's car was pretty cool. Maybe now that he was seventeen, he'd let him drive it!

"Connor, can I drive your car?" he called down the hallway, not bothering to get off his bed as he didn't have much hope for the outcome.

"No!" Connor shouted back immediately.

"Git."

It was worth a shot.

"Where did Dad go?" Connor asked as he annoyingly appeared in the door.

"Dunno," Spike answered, scrolling through the newest apps for his iPod.

Connor frowned.

"What?" Spike asked, picking up on it even though his eyes didn't leave the touchscreen. "I'm not his keeper."

"Did he say when he'd be back?" Connor pressed.

"Dunno," Spike answered.

If Angel had cut and run on them again, Connor was going to be so upset with him. It wasn't like this change in Spike was completely unexpected. Angel couldn't use that excuse.

Spike cut his gaze slowly and dramatically from his iPod to Connor, giving him his best are-you-still-here look. He knew Connor, and if he just gave him a bit of the cold shoulder, he would crack in no time and do whatever Spike wanted in order to get back on his good side … probably. Was it his finest moment, manipulating his friend like that? No, but he was really starting to get a case of cabin fever.

"I'm going back to bed," Connor muttered. "You … You won't like, leave on me or anything, right?"

"Who, me?" Spike asked innocently.

Connor sighed, defeated, and made himself comfortable on the edge of Spike's bed.

"Fine. Bed's out, then," he said. "What do you want to do? Something that doesn't involve smoking, drinking, setting fire to anything..."

"Whoring?" Spike asked sarcastically. "Can there be whoring?"

"No whoring," Connor added, not missing a beat. "No maiming, no leaving the house..."

Spike gave a disgruntled snort and shook his head in a most disgusted fashion. He threw in an eye roll for good measure, and when Connor reached over to try and cover his iPod screen, he pulled it away from him without further acknowledgment.

"I'll make breakfast," Connor offered. "Anything you want."

Spike just shook his head and made a point of putting his ear buds in and turning the volume way up.

"Come on. Don't be this way," Connor pleaded. "I don't … We can play cards or something."

With another pointed look, Spike turned the volume louder, until he was sure that even Connor could distinguish the words to the Youtube video he was watching.

Connor threw his hands into the air and mouthed—he may have actually said it, but Spike's ears were otherwise occupied—a cautionary "I'm watching you" before he finally left the room. Spike waited until he was sure he was gone and allowed himself half a smirk. Yeah, Connor would break down soon enough, and then they could have some real fun, just like old times.


	31. Chapter 31

This had all started because Connor realized, or rather, was helpfully told, that he was old. He was an old man now, completely incapable of understanding today's youth, or of having the tiniest spot of fun. He never went out anymore, he never did anything the least bit entertaining that Spike could tell, and when exactly was the last time he'd gotten laid, anyway?

That had done it. Spike had to admit, Connor'd held out a lot longer than he'd expected, and it had taken much wheedling and some serious arm twisting to get him out of the hotel, but he'd eventually succeeded. Was he proud of that, or of all the havoc that they had wreaked on this bar? Heck yeah, he was! And he demonstrated it with an exhilarated laugh as he dodged yet another flying chair.

"Duck!" he advised, looking over just in time to see his mate get blindsided by a burly biker man who hadn't taken too kindly to having his night so disrupted.

"Ow!" Connor exclaimed mildly, grabbing at the back of his neck like he'd been stung by a bee.

The biker stared in somewhat of a shock when Connor remained on his feet. Any normal guy, a blow like that to the back of the head with that full bottle of Jim Beam would have knocked him to the ground. Instead, Connor turned slowly around, looking particularly cranky now, and offered his feelings on the subject.

"That was very rude," he admonished before punching the guy's lights out.

"Let's get out of here!" Spike finally encouraged, though Connor had already moved on to the next biggest, baddest guy he could find … or rather, who could find him.

"In a minute!" he called over his shoulder.

"_Alan,_ come on!" Spike repeated.

They'd decided, after Spike had had a cigarette and Connor a drink or two or three, that if names were to be used in this smoky, rundown dive, they should probably be fake in nature.

"_Denny_, I'm kinda busy at the moment!"

Spike, of course, had chosen the names.

"Alan" finished knocking down the last assailant in the bar and then surveyed the damage. No more combatants were forthcoming, and there was a lot of moaning and groaning going on down in the floor area.

Yeah.

That had been fun. He smiled at Spike as they both headed toward the exit.

"Ahem," the bartender said pointedly. "Tab?"

"Oh, right," Connor said, pulling out his wallet apologetically and tossing some cash on the bar. "Sorry. Um … Well … Bye!"

The bartender just shook his head disapprovingly and continued to dry out the glasses in front of him like maybe this kind of thing was a nightly occurrence.

"Gimme the keys," Spike said as they dashed toward the Mustang.

"No way," Connor replied immediately.

"Gimme the keys," Spike said more firmly, holding his hands up for them. "You've been drinking, and _I _didn't get to."

Connor sighed and looked around as if the oil-covered street might provide him with some advice on how to proceed.

"Yeah, okay," he said reluctantly. "But if you crash my car..."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Trust me, mate, you're more likely to crash it than I am."

"Still..."

"I won't," Spike promised. "If I do, you can pound me. Deal?"

Connor grudgingly tossed the keys to him, and Spike excitedly jumped behind the wheel before he could change his mind. He revved the engine a little, but he had to stop after a scathing look from Wet Blanket, Jr. It was pretty satisfying nonetheless.

"Your dad used to have a Viper," he said as he peeled out of the parking space and sped down the road.

"I know," Connor said. "He tells me all the time."

"It was pretty sweet," Spike said, nodding solemnly. "I stole it once."

"What?" Connor asked with a drunken laugh. "He didn't tell me _that._"

"Oh, yeah," Spike said longingly. "I stole his Viper, he came after me. There was this cup thing. It … well, long story short, we beat the hell out of each other and went home."

"Typical day at the office?" Connor asked.

"More or less."

"Hey, where are we going?" Connor asked, actually looking out the window he'd leaned his head on, feeling confused and suddenly alarmed. "This isn't the way home."

Spike laughed.

"We're not going home yet! It's still early."

"Oh, God," Connor murmured. "I think we should go home." He pulled out his phone and checked it. "Angel hasn't called yet, so we can still make it back before he does."

Spike just snorted. Connor didn't like the implication.

"We have to get home before he does," he amended. "He will kill us. He will kill _me _for taking you out."

"It'll be fine," Spike said, shrugging. "When he asks where we've been, we'll make something up."

"_That's _your grand plan?" Connor asked incredulously. "'Make something up?' That won't work. He can tell when you lie!"

"No, he can tell when _you_ lie," Spike corrected. "_You_ have a heartbeat. That's why you'll let me do the talking if talking becomes necessary."

"We are so dead," Connor murmured, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"It'll be fine," Spike insisted, scanning the streets for a good looking tavern but not really seeing one. "He'll be mad for a couple days, but it'll blow over. It always does."

"Ohhhhh," Connor groaned, finding that his stomach suddenly hurt, and he suspected it had nothing to do with the alcohol he'd consumed. "Please. Please let's just go home."

"No can do, junior," Spike said cheerfully as he veered left and jerkily but skillfully parallel parked them at the curb right next to a sign advising against it unless one wanted to be towed.

Connor was too drunk to notice.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Bar," Spike said simply, pointing toward the neon sign. "Looks fun."

"It looks awful," Connor protested as he saw a large, rough looking dude get flung from the entrance and land in the alley.

"Fun, awful, tomayto, tomahto," Spike said happily.

"I hate tomatoes," Connor groused. "And _tomahtoes._"

"In we go!"

Despite thinking it was a bad idea, Connor dragged himself out of the car and followed Spike.

Spike had had no trouble getting into the last bar. They hadn't carded him, or anyone else there for that matter, but Connor had absolutely refused to let him drink alcohol, and he wouldn't buy him a pack of smokes from the old-school vending machine either. Spike had bummed a cigarette off a … well, he supposed they were calling them "cougars" these days... She'd been more than happy to oblige. He was sure she would have obliged him just about anything, in fact, but Connor had pulled him to the corner farthest away from her and given him such a dirty look that he'd decided not to pursue.

Pity. She was hot.

If all went well, maybe he'd have similar luck here.

"Whoa," the unexpected bouncer said, thrusting out a meaty hand to stop them from entering the bar.

"What?" Spike asked innocently.

"Your kind aren't welcome here," the man informed him in a low, threatening voice. "Get lost."

"What?" he said shrilly, trying to muster up some convincing righteous indignation. "What's this, now? I'm eighteen!"

The bouncer snorted, and when he turned his head slightly, Spike noticed that he had distinctly non-human markings on the side of his neck.

"Don't care how old," he growled. "No humans."

Old Snorty flashed a menacing mouthful of sharp, pointy teeth meant to scare off undesirables, but Spike broke into a delighted grin of his own.

"Got one of those winning smiles myself, mate," he informed the bouncer, changing to his vamp face and wiggling his eyebrows impishly.

"Fine," the bouncer sighed, and then noticed Connor. "Not him, though."

"He's with me," Spike said. "Besides, he ain't all that human himself."

"Yeah!" Connor agreed, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was agreeing with, and then he swayed on his feet a little until Spike put a steadying arm around him.

His alcohol was really starting to kick in. Exactly how many drinks had he consumed at the first bar before that guy had made a comment about Spike's girl pants and effectively begun that all-out brawl? Was it four? It couldn't have been four, because at four, he wouldn't even be feeling it. Not unless … Oh god. He really _was_ old.

Well, no matter... He'd just have to prove that he could still hold his own. No way could he let himself look like a lightweight in front of Spike—especially not seventeen-year-old Spike. He'd never hear the end of it.

"More liquor!" he declared as soon as they'd finally been granted entrance.

"More?" Spike asked. "I've not had any, so how can I have more?"

"Not you," Connor said. "Me."

"Selfish little prat, aren't you?" Spike said with an amused smile as he planted Connor into the nearest empty booth and slid in across from him. "Wonder if they've got table service here?"

Connor looked around, finally comprehending exactly what kind of establishment they were patronizing.

"Shit," he murmured under his breath. "This is a demon bar."

"Yeah!" Spike said excitedly. "I wonder how we didn't know about this one?"

"Not sure we should be in here," Connor continued, ducking his head and keeping his voice low. "We might have enemies here, you know."

"Nah," Spike said, pointing at a sign on the wall that had the word VIOLENCE written in a red circle and struck through.

Connor laughed.

"Yeah. That's gonna stop it."

"Bet there's a no violence spell," Spike said, reaching out and slapping him right across the face.

"Ow!" Connor yelped when the slap made full contact after all. "You little shit!"

"Or not," Spike said, only sort of apologetically. He shrugged. "My bad. Give me cash and I'll go get you a drink."

Connor's inhibitions were weak, but they weren't _that_ weak.

"No. Just go ask if someone will come around or if I need to go up there."

Spike muttered to himself but did as Connor had bid him. Maybe if he was agreeable enough, Connor would eventually give in and let him have some fun, too.

"What'll it be?" the short, balding man asked when he finally noticed him and turned around.

"I know you," Spike said, his eyes gleaming with recognition. "You're from Sunnydale! Willy. Willy the Snitch!"

"Shhh!" the bartender shushed him. "Keep it down! I don't go by that name anymore! And who are you, anyway?"

"Spike," Spike replied easily.

Willy regarded him suspiciously, and then shrugged.

"I've had some work done," Spike explained even though he hadn't been asked. "Could I have a couple beers?"

"Wanna start a tab?"

"Yeah," Spike said, delighted. "Yeah, that's right."

"Heard you went and got a soul. You lose it? You evil again?" Willy asked conversationally as he opened up the bottles for him.

"What? No!" Spike exclaimed, all offended. "Why would you say that to me, anyway?"

"Those pants," Willy said, glancing down. "And that shirt... And that hair... Not a lot of good guys come in here looking like that."

"Well, just … shut up," Spike murmured, taking his alcohol—oh, and Connor's, he supposed—back to the booth.

"Oh, good, you brought me two drinks," Connor said sarcastically, attempting and failing to grab Spike's illicit beer away from him.

"Used to know the barkeep," Spike explained, turning the alcohol back and downing half the bottle at once. "Don't worry, I started a tab for you."

He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, and Connor frowned.

"Isn't that shirt silk?" he reminded him. "And like, Dad's?"

"Oh, Christ," Spike said, looking down at the mess he'd made of it. "Well, I've already ripped it in three places, so what difference does it make if it smells like beer, too?"

Connor groaned and laid his head down on his folded arms. How could he have been so foolish as to let Spike go up to the bar? How could he have been so foolish as to fall for his goading and come out with him at all? Angel was going to tear his head off. Or, more likely, wear his ass out. He glared hatefully at Spike, who'd already finished his own beer and had downed half of Connor's while he wasn't looking.

"What?" Spike said innocently, not bothering to release his grip on Connor's bottle. "I've really missed booze!"

"This was a mistake," Connor moaned. "A horrible, horrible mistake."

"Oh, now," Spike said cheerfully. "You don't mean that. Are you telling me you've not had a good time?"

"Horrible mistake," Connor repeated.

"You just need another drink. I'll get it," Spike said helpfully, and before Connor could even protest, he'd returned with a fresh one for both of them.

"Why'd you have to go and show up a little kid?" Connor grumbled, peeling the label from his beverage and leaving the little scraps all over the table. "Angel and I were doing really well together before you came back."

Spike frowned. That remark kinda hurt his feelings, but he doubted that Connor meant it to sound as harsh as it did. It was clearly the alcohol talking.

"What do you mean?" he asked gently.

"We were getting along great. Equal partners. Now he treats me like a kid again, too, and … and..."

"It's not fair?" Spike asked wryly.

"Right, it's not fair!" Connor agreed heartily, failing to pick up on Spike's sarcasm. "I don't think he even means to do it. It just comes naturally to him when you're around."

"Thought you were all fired up and ready to _be_ a kid for him," Spike commented. "Change your mind?"

"I don't know," Connor mumbled, downing his new beer in a few gulps. "It's … I don't know. It's complicated."

"Well, I'll tell you what isn't complicated," Spike said, stretching one arm out across the back of the booth to make himself more comfortable. "Seventeen is a great age. It was almost—almost—worth it to go through all that other crap to get here. I feel great."

"Good for you," Connor said glumly. "When I was seventeen … Well, let's just say it was a bad year for me."

"Yeah, mate, I know," Spike said sympathetically. "I'm sorry you got such a rough lot in life."

"Nah," Connor said, shaking his head, trying hard to pull himself out of the doldrums. After all, nobody liked a whiner. "It's fine. I'm fine. Really. No use crying over the past, is there?"

Spike didn't really know what to say, so he held up his bottle and toasted Connor's empty one. Connor decided he needed to rectify the situation, so he sauntered up to the bar to get more beer. He leaned on the counter and named his poison to the bartender, who nodded once and turned to fetch it for him.

After a brief, yet serious, thought, he ordered another for Spike, too. Angel was already going to have both their hides. May as well make it worth it!


	32. Chapter 32

_I know, shortest chapter ever! _

* * *

Angel was having a rough day.

Spike had grown again and, amazingly, that was the least of his problems.

Funny. Spike was usually the bulk of his problems.

"You—" he said between clenched fangs as he punched the ugly demon in the mouth for at least the ninth time, "have to _die _now! I have things—" he reared back and punched him some more "—to do, and I really don't have time for this today!"

Angel held the demon down on the ground by the throat while he rummaged around in his coat for anything he might have left in there that he could use as a weapon. His weapons bag that he'd brought out with him that morning—which seemed like days ago by this point—had been stolen right out of his car, and not by some supernatural threat, either. It had been lifted by a couple kids goofing around, stealing stuff for fun. He'd have chased them down and really put the fear of God in them, but he was busy being pummeled at the time. What kind of world was it, he wondered as he finally found a stake in an inside pocket and shoved it through the gurgling demon's head, where you couldn't even leave the doors unlocked for fifteen seconds while you dispatched of a little evil? And yeah, okay, maybe the top had been down, too, but that wasn't the point. He'd leave that part out when he informed Connor that he'd lost his favorite axe.

Connor. He hoped his son was okay. He'd called him seven or eight times throughout the day and gotten no answer. No answer at the hotel, either, and Spike didn't have a cell phone. They should probably get him one. He laughed to himself. Teenagers with their own personal cell phones. The world really was insane.

He sat back and propped his right leg out in front of him. Yep, it was still bleeding, but at least he'd managed to get the bullet out. He sure did bleed a lot for someone with no circulation. How did that work, anyway? He shook his head to clear it. Now wasn't the time to get philosophical. He ripped the sleeve off his shirt—he liked that shirt, too—and tied it around the wound before hopping up and limping back to the Plymouth and starting her up.

Yes, he'd had to really work for his money today … except he hadn't actually seen any of the money yet. Was it a full moon or something? He looked up. No. Great. That meant things were just naturally hectic. Sure, he was grateful for the work. After all, Angel Investigations had bills to pay. He laughed to himself. "Angel Investigations" was just that lately—Angel, alone. As much as he loved having little, medium, and medium-well Spike at the house, losing Connor to babysitting duties was starting to take its toll. After the fourth trouble call he'd received—and each one seemed to come while he was in the middle of the previous endeavor, he'd broken down and phoned Connor to see if he, and hell, even Spike—he was old enough—would come out and lend a hand.

Now, though, as he pulled into his space behind the Hyperion, he was kinda glad that Connor hadn't answered. Spike was probably old enough to handle some cases with them, but he shouldn't have to. That wasn't the way he wanted to handle this. His teenage Will should get to be a kid for as long as he could. Angel sighed. That probably wouldn't be much longer.

"Guys!" he called out as he limped into the hotel and found that it sounded decidedly empty other than the television that had been left on in his office. "Connor? Will?"

They weren't there.

_They weren't there._

Angel, frustrated, slammed his fist down on his desk, knocking some of its contents to the floor.

Why weren't they there? They had no business out in the world, and besides that, it was late. They'd better just be getting their asses back home with a damn good explanation if they knew what was good for them.

He whipped out his phone to call Connor again, but before he could hit the speed dial, it began ringing. He didn't recognize the number, and he almost ignored it, but a nagging suspicion told him to answer.

"Angel," he said tersely.

"Hey, Angel," the whiny, shady sounding voice on the other end greeted him as if they were old pals. "You need to come get your kids."


	33. Chapter 33

"Who is this?" Angel demanded. "How did you get this number?"

"A friend," the man replied elusively, and Angel wasn't sure which question he was answering. "Listen, just come down past third..."

"No, _you_ listen," Angel interrupted. "If anything happens to those boys, either of them, I fully intend to take it out on you. Enthusiastically."

"Hey, whoa," he said. "Ain't nothin' happenin' to _them_. They're the ones who've wrecked my place!"

"Address," Angel said shortly.

* * *

"We are _sooo_ screwed," Connor lamented, leaning his head back against the block wall.

"I know. Shut up about it already," Spike said, sighing in aggravation.

"Both of you shut up," Willy added. "Since you either ran off or _killed _off all my business, the least you can do is keep quiet until your daddy shows up."

"Oh, bugger off!" Spike shot back. "You wouldn't be talking to us like that if Big Ugly here didn't have that … that _thing_ pointed at us."

He glared hatefully at the stun gun in the bouncer's hand.

Connor dropped his head onto his bent knees and moaned. He'd been doing that for the past twenty minutes, at least, and it was really starting to get on Spike's nerves.

"Oh, man up, will you?" he snapped. "It's not the end of the world."

Connor turned a dirty glower on his young friend. Would he get zapped again if he punched him? Probably better not to risk it. He'd wait to punch him until they got home, where Spike's was the only reprisal he'd have to worry about.

Well. And Angel's.

Where was Angel, anyway? Had he gotten lost? They'd been sitting there with their backs to the wall, held at stun point for like an hour, listening to Willy bemoan the loss of his customer base.

"I told you we shouldn't have come in here," Connor muttered.

That was one utterance too many as far as Spike was concerned, and he elbowed Connor hard in the ribs.

"Hey!" the bouncer thundered, taking a threatening step toward them, stun gun extended. "No moving."

"Get bent," Spike replied hotly. "He's my uncle … or … or I'm his uncle … I … Well, either way, I'll hit him if I want to!"

Connor rubbed at his ribs, but he didn't say anything, and he didn't hit back—but God, he wanted to. He was already plotting how he could sneak in a little retribution when the front door was suddenly ripped completely off its hinges.

The four remaining occupants of the bar turned their attention to the newcomer, who changed out of his vamp face when he saw all the demon bodies littering the floor and his two miscreants crouched against the far wall.

"Willy the Snitch," Angel said, dashing over at vampire speed and quickly picking the man up by the collar of his shirt and lifting him clear across the bar. "I should have known."

"Hey, hey, whoa!" Willy protested. "Put me down! Buzz! Buzz!"

"Buzz?" Angel asked. "What are you talking a—"

The bouncer—Buzz, everyone now knew—dutifully left his position guarding Connor and Spike and lumbered over to tazer Angel, who actually laughed and swatted the stun gun out of his hand without even letting go of Willy.

Huh. That was weird. When Connor and Spike had tried that earlier, they'd gotten their asses kicked. How come Angel so easily … Oh, right. When Connor and Spike had tried it, they'd been three sheets to the wind, both of them. Well, Connor didn't know about his partner in crime, but he was feeling a lot less drunk now and lot more sick to his stomach.

"Sorry, man. I quit," Buzz said apologetically to Willy, who still dangled precariously from Angel's outstretched hand.

"Get out of here," Angel snarled back at him, and he wasted no time obeying the order.

Angel turned to Connor and Spike, and somehow his expression wasn't any friendlier.

"Get up," he said. "And get in the car."

"Hey, w-wait a minute," Willy protested. "These guys haven't paid their tab!"

Angel raised a single eyebrow and peered first at Connor and then at Willy, who looked like maybe he was about to retract that statement and just let it slide.

"Pay the man what you owe him," Angel finally said with a jerk of his head at Connor.

Connor fumbled around for his wallet … which was missing.

"Shit," he murmured, checking every pocket he had and throwing a rather panic-stricken glance in Spike's direction.

"I don't have it!" Spike whispered.

"You've lost your wallet?" Angel asked, none too happy about it.

Connor shrugged helplessly and began looking around them on the floor.

"I-I had it. Earlier," he offered. "I don't … It's not here..."

With a long-suffering sigh, Angel dropped Willy none too gently to the floor and reached for his own wallet.

"What do they owe?" he asked.

"Uh, no, Angel, that's okay. Just forget it," Willy offered benevolently, taking a few steps backwards and nearly tripping over some dead, horned beast. "We're square. Just forget it."

"What do they owe you?" Angel repeated in a tone that indicated just how thin his patience had worn.

Willy reached behind the bar and grabbed the bill, which he held tentatively out to Angel. Angel took it, scowled at it, and then turned that scowl on his boys.

"How?" he demanded. "How can two people, one of whom isn't even old enough to drink, rack up a bill this high?"

Connor looked expectantly to Spike, who earlier had graciously offered to do all the talking. But he just stared at the toe of his—well, Angel's that he had borrowed—boot and fidgeted nervously.

"Never mind," Angel thankfully said. "I don't even wanna know."

He pulled the money out and tossed it toward Willy.

"Don't ever call me again," he said, pointing a warning finger at the squirrely little man. "Ever."

"Well, just don't you and your crew come in here busting up my joint," Willy replied in a sudden bout of bravery.

"You look remarkably unscathed. Maybe I should break your nose for old times' sake, what do ya say?" Angel asked, taking a step toward him.

"No, no. No need for that. Never call you again. Got it," Willy backtracked. "Got it loud and clear. Please, come back any time..."

Angel growled from somewhere in the back of his throat and jerked his thumb toward the doorway. The boys were reluctant to walk past him, but they kinda had to to get out of there. As soon as they were within arm's reach, Angel clamped one hand on the back of Connor's neck, and the other he used to firmly secure Spike's ear.

"Ow," Spike murmured softly as they got dragged out the open hole that used to be the door.

"What's that?" Connor asked, stopping short despite the grip his father had on him.

There was someone … or something … in the back seat of Angel's car. Yes, definitely a some_thing_, and judging from the way it slumped against the side, it was either passed out or dead.

"It's a long story," Angel answered. "Stopped for him on the way here. Get in."

"Shotgun!" Spike called, earning him a glare from the others for a variety of reasons. "Well! I'm not riding in the back with him."

"Well, neither am I!" Connor protested. "I'm not going if I have to sit with him."

Angel was tired and hungry—and _shot—_and he had listened to enough nonsense for one night. He released his grip on his son's neck so that he could give him an almighty wallop right across the backside.

"Ouch!" Connor exclaimed involuntarily, reaching behind him to rub out the sting.

"You get in that car right now, or I will bust your ass right here _and_ when we get home," Angel threatened, his jaw working angrily.

Spike couldn't help it. The look on Connor's face was just too priceless, and he chuckled.

"Don't know what you're laughing at," Angel said, turning furious eyes toward him. "The ride home's the last time _you_ will _ever _sit down!"

That swat and the threats lacing the air apparently helped Connor make up his mind, because he promptly scurried away and hopped into the back seat. Spike quickly follow suit and squeezed in the back between Connor and the demon, deciding he wasn't all that eager to sit next to Angel after all.

Angel took a deep breath and got behind the wheel. He needed to calm down, he knew that. An assault charge for beating their behinds right there in the street would be just the perfect crappy ending to this perfectly crappy day. No, he could wait until he got them home. Before starting the engine, though, he glared angrily at Connor in the rear view mirror. Spike didn't have a reflection, so he had to actually physically turn around to get a good glare in at him, too.

The boys didn't look any happier than he was.

Good.


	34. Chapter 34

_A/N: This chapter is heavy on the spanking. If you're repulsed or offended by that, please just skip this one._

Once they got home, Angel kept a firm grip on both of his boys as he ushered them into the hotel without anyone speaking a word.

Connor was starting to get a little bit irritated at the manhandling, and he jerked his shoulder free from his dad's grip and took a few stumbling steps sideways. Angel glared at him, but instead of backing down like he normally would, Connor just glared right back.

"Get your asses upstairs and take a shower, both of you," Angel ordered. "You smell like an ashtray."

"Whatever," Connor murmured as he turned on his heels and stomped up the stairs.

Spike licked his lips nervously. He knew he was going to be in trouble for the smoking, and probably in even bigger trouble for the going out and drinking. But Connor was going to make it worse on both of them if he didn't shut up soon. Spike felt like he should say something, anything to better the situation, but he couldn't seem to think of what that might be.

"March!" Angel said, pointing toward the staircase when Spike just stood there staring at him.

"A-Angel, I just..." he stammered out. "I wanted to say..."

"Shower!" Angel repeated, turning him around and smacking his bottom hard to help him get a move on.

A yelp escaped without his permission, and he rubbed ruefully at his bum as he trudged up the stairs, glancing nervously back at Angel every few steps.

Once both of the kids were out of sight, Angel allowed himself the luxury of a weary sigh. He started toward the staircase himself, but his leg throbbed painfully in protest, and he reluctantly made use of the elevator instead. He didn't have much time; the demon in the back of the Plymouth would wake up soon. He had to change bandages and clothes and make it down there to beat some answers out of him before dealing with Spike and Connor.

If they were lucky, he would use up most of his frustration on the demon... But he had a feeling that their luck had run out for the night, as he had plenty of frustration to go around.

Connor took a long, leisurely shower, and used the time to work himself from righteous indignation to nervous anticipation and back. He was a grown-ass man, and it was completely insulting for Angel to think that he had the right to do _anything_ to him, much less the thing that he was pretty sure his dad had in mind. He wasn't a child anymore, and he shouldn't be treated like one. Yeah. He would tell Angel just that, too.

A sharp knock at his bathroom door made him nearly jump out of his skin while he was imagining his heroic defiance.

"Who is it?" he called hesitantly.

"Spike. Hurry up in there."

"Go away," Connor said.

"Angel's waiting for us in his room," Spike informed him. "He says you're to come there immediately."

"Can I dry off and put on some clothes first?" Connor asked sarcastically.

"He didn't say," Spike answered seriously. "Just hurry up."

Connor didn't respond. He stood there in the safety of the warm, soothing water for as long as he dared, then got out and put on a clean t-shirt and some pajama pants. He dried his hair with the blow dryer on the low heat setting, making sure that it took a long time, and then he decided to go ahead and brush his teeth while he was at it. When he couldn't think of any more stalling tactics, he padded in his bare feet over to Angel's room and knocked on the door frame before entering.

Spike was sitting silently on the bed with his hands shoved up underneath his thighs as if he'd already been spanked, though Connor assumed he probably hadn't been. He had re-dressed in his leather pants and was wearing Angel's red satin pajama top. Connor thought he looked ridiculous, but he didn't bother telling him so. He couldn't even decide right then if he was speaking to him at all.

"Connor, where is my spatula?" Angel demanded irritably, slamming drawers open and shut.

"What spatula?" Connor said nervously, dismayed when it came out in a rather guilty squeak.

"You know the one," Angel said accusingly. "Where is it?"

"I don't have it!" he said quickly.

"I did not ask you if you _had_ it," Angel said through clenched teeth. "I asked you where it was."

"I don't have it," Connor repeated weakly.

Yeah, Connor knew the spatula—the spanking spatula, but he didn't have it, nor did he know where it was … technically. The last time he'd seen it, which coincidentally happened to be a few weeks after he'd moved into the Hyperion, it was being happily carried off in a garbage bag by the cleaning service lady, who had asked him three times if he was absolutely _sure_ it was something that should be thrown away.

"That's okay," Angel said tersely, stalking to his bathroom. "That's fine. If you don't want to come clean on it, that's fine. I've got something just as good."

Connor could hear his dad rummaging around in the bathroom drawers now, and he knew that whatever he came out of there with, it most assuredly wouldn't be "good."

"Hairbrush," Spike speculated out of the corner of his mouth as if they were making bets.

"Huh?" Connor asked.

"Hairbrush," Spike repeated in a whisper.

Connor wasn't entirely certain what that meant, but sure enough, Angel emerged from his bathroom carrying an overly large wooden hairbrush. What did he plan—Angel answered the silent question before it had even fully formed by smacking the back of that thing into his own left palm—oh. _That _was what he planned to do with it. Ow.

"I'm twenty-five!" Connor blurted out before he could stop himself.

"You coulda fooled me," Angel retorted.

"You can't!" he tried again. "Angel, it—it was one thing when I was like, nineteen, but I'm twenty-five."

"Then start acting like it," Angel said coldly, and Connor fell silent, but the scowl on his face expressed exactly which choice words he was thinking.

He'd told Angel what he'd planned to tell him, but the words had come out sounding a lot less confident and authoritative than he'd hoped.

Spike had yet to say anything to Angel since he'd planted himself on the bed. He thought Connor was successfully digging himself a deeper hole, and he had no desire to join him in it. His dear departed mother had warmed his bottom with a hairbrush a couple of times when he was especially unruly, and it wasn't an experience that was easily forgotten.

"I'm going to ask you two a question, and so help me, if you lie to me..." Angel threatened.

"What?" Connor snapped hatefully, and Spike elbowed him in the ribs hard. "I mean … I … sorry."

Angel decided to let the attitude go—this time. His son had enough to answer for already, and he wouldn't be sitting comfortably for a long time if Angel could help it.

"Did you drive drunk?" he demanded.

"No!" Connor answered indignantly. "Of course not!"

"You?" he asked Spike.

Spike shook his head quickly.

"Verbal answer," Angel instructed.

"No, I didn't," he replied quietly.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes darting from one to the other in case he needed to catch them in some lie they'd cooked up together.

"No!" Connor repeated hotly. "We didn't!"

Angel mentally sighed with relief, but outwardly showed no indication of what he thought either way.

"I cannot believe how irresponsible you were," he lectured. "Both of you. I'd ask you what you were thinking, but clearly, you weren't thinking at all. _You—_" he used his brush to point ominously at Spike, "were and continue to be grounded, and I know that you know what that means. I could even almost understand if it was a small rebellion, if you snuck in a little TV time while I was gone—which you probably did. But this? Sneaking out and doing God knows what, smoking after I specifically _forbade_ you to do so..."

Spike was about to open his mouth and protest that he hadn't snuck out at all, that he'd walked right out the front doors with Angel's own spawn, but he decided it was probably unwise to interrupt the tirade with that information.

"And _you,_" Angel continued, changing his focus to Connor and pointing the hairbrush at him to emphasize his words, "you should know better. It was dangerous and stupid to take him out like that and get him drunk in a demon bar. They call that guy Willy the Snitch for a reason, Connor. Now half of L.A. probably knows about Spike's condition. You think anything good's gonna come out of that? Huh?"

Connor just hung his head and pinched his lips together in a tight frown. He knew Angel was right, but he sure as hell wasn't ready to admit it yet.

"Who's first?" Angel asked, getting down to business now that he had said his piece.

Connor's head shot up as he felt a jolt of fear and dread course through him now that it was really happening. Aside from that one recent rude awakening, he was blessedly out of practice in this area, and he wasn't sure how he was going to react if Angel tried to toss him over his knee.

"Not in front of him," he said weakly, feeling like a baby for even complaining but unable to stop the words from forming.

"Why not?" Angel asked heartlessly. "You did the crime together; you can do the time together."

Spike glanced sympathetically at Connor. Connor never was much good at taking his medicine, it seemed. He always took it personally and let it hurt his feelings that Angel thought he'd been "bad" enough to deserve a spanking. Spike thought he understood a little better where Angel was coming from, that he considered it his fatherly duty to correct his offspring and all that jazz. He would take one for the team and go first so Connor could see that Angel really didn't intend to kill them … well, he hoped.

"I'm ready," he said with quiet resolve, standing up and going to Angel, who had relocated himself into a chair beside the bed.

Angel grabbed his wrist and quickly tipped him over his knee. Without further ado, he raised the brush high and brought it down with a resounding, unforgiving crack on his sorry little behind.

"Wait!" Spike said, wiggling frantically and throwing both hands back to shield as much territory as he could. "Wait, Angel, please!"

Angel was in no mood to listen to pleas and began whacking whatever he could get to, eliciting several yelps from his wayward youth.

"No, seriously, wait," Spike said, trying to keep his voice as even and reasonable as possible. "Wait. Stop! You're going to wear out the seat of my trousers!"

Angel abruptly stopped, holding the brush high in position.

"That's kinda the point," he said dryly.

"No," Spike whined. "I-I mean, you're going to damage the leather!"

"Oh, you're right," Angel said smoothly, his tone very reminiscent of Angelus as he hauled the teen to his feet. "Take them down."

"What?" Spike said stupidly, glancing briefly at Connor, who seemed transfixed on the whole ordeal as if it were some sort of train wreck that he couldn't help but watch. "I … Let me go change into something else..."

"No," Angel said firmly. "Take them down."

Spike's bottom lip quivered a little, but he fumbled with the zipper and managed to do as he'd been ordered. Being the brave martyr and going first was one thing, but having his trousers taken down in front of his mate was another altogether. He felt ridiculous with them around his knees as Angel guided him back across his lap, but not nearly as mortified as he felt when that ill-tempered sod unexpectedly yanked his boxer shorts down to join them.

"No!" he protested, but it did him no good.

"Are those my underwear?" Angel asked, momentarily distracted before he began in earnest.

Connor knew it was rude to stare, but he'd never seen someone else get spanked before, and he couldn't take his eyes off the scene. He'd assumed that Spike, who was long and lean now in his teenage state, would look absolutely foolish upended over Angel's lap. But, despite the fact that his legs and torso dangled over either side of Angel's knees, he still managed to be a perfect fit where it mattered.

Connor winced at the first couple smacks, and he noticed that Spike was sucking in a few breaths, too, and doing a little involuntary squirming. Angel wasn't going easy on him, it appeared, and as his butt got redder and redder, Spike sobbed a couple times like he might burst into tears, but he somehow managed not to.

"What happened to one smack for each year of my age?" he even had the audacity to ask, right in the middle of his punishment.

"Ha," Angel laughed mirthlessly, putting a little extra oomph into his swing since Spike didn't seem to be taking it seriously enough. "How about one for every dollar of that bar tab?"

"Point taken. Shutting up," Spike murmured.

Angel swung that hairbrush hard until his shoulder kinda felt the burn. Spike didn't cry, but Angel was sure that he'd driven his point home, because he could feel the trembling submission emanating from the teen, and when he finally did let him up after a good solid smack with his palm, he saw not one bit of amusement or defiance in his boy's red-rimmed eyes.

"Sit on the bed," he ordered, and Spike docilely did just that, easing up his underwear but not even bothering with the pants as he shuffled over with a sniff.

He kicked the pants completely off and lowered himself down gingerly beside Connor, who seemed to be frozen in place despite Angel asking him twice to "come here." Spike nudged him in that direction and gave him a watery smile, hoping that it was more reassuring than he felt.

"Maybe we had a really good reason for going out," Connor attempted, feeling his heart speed up again and hating it for doing so since he knew his dad could hear it.

"Maybe you did," Angel replied easily. "And after I punish you, you can tell me all about it."

"What about all that stuff about us being partners and you staying off my case?" Connor muttered as he finally got to his feet and trudged toward his dad. "I guess that was all just bullshit, huh?"

"Hey!" Angel admonished, grabbing both Connor's arms and shaking him slightly. "You are my friend, and you are my partner, but first and foremost, you are my _son_. So when you go off acting like a little idiot and put yourself and our whole family in danger, everything else goes out the window, understand?"

"Whatever," Connor mumbled, and Angel smacked him hard on the side of his leg, making him jump.

"You listen to me, little boy," Angel started, his tone as serious a one as Connor had heard in a long time.

"Don't call me that," he interrupted nonetheless. "I'm almost as old as you are."

"No," Angel said with a short shake of his head and a rueful smile. "You're not."

"You know what I mean," Connor whispered hotly.

"I love you boys—and you are my boys, no matter how old you are—and something bad could have happened to you out there tonight," Angel said sternly.

"Something bad _is_ happening to us," Connor answered back sullenly.

"Fine, get mouthy," Angel invited. "You can hate me for it all you want, son, but if you fight me on this, I promise you I will hold you down and whip your little ass every night for a week. Are we clear?"

Connor raised shocked, embarrassed eyes to his father. Fight him on it? He would never. He would bitch and complain and yes, probably even whine and beg, but he wouldn't fight him. That wasn't who he was anymore.

"I … I didn't mean … Yes, sir, we're clear," he said quietly, feeling the heat prickle his face as he tucked his thumbs in his waistband to get the pajamas out of the way without being asked.

Angel seemed somewhat appeased by that answer, but that didn't stop him from turning Connor's bare behind the same angry shade of red that he'd turned Spike's. Connor managed to keep his tears at bay, but only because he was all too aware of Spike watching him like a television show. Had it just been him and his father, he knew that the blubbering and pleading would have started very early on, because that hairbrush freaking _hurt_. He didn't care if he was twenty-five and semi-super-powered—it hurt.

"Now," Angel said as he finally let Connor up. "Was there a really good reason you had for leaving this hotel tonight, going to a demon bar, getting completely hammered, and then trashing the place?"

Spike and Connor glanced at each other as each of them seemed to realize that Angel didn't even know about the _first_ bar they'd been to, and about all the trouble they'd caused there. Spike sure wasn't going to bring it up, and he hoped Connor would at least have the good sense to keep quiet on that, too. They both shook their heads to indicate that no, there was no good reason.

"You guys are too important to me to go pulling stupid crap that could get you killed. Got it?" Angel answered, not pushing for any further explanation.

"Got it," they murmured in unison.

"I'm gonna need your iPod," Angel said, nodding at Spike.

"Uh!" Spike protested, barely managing to stop himself from stomping his foot.

"And I'm gonna need your keys," Angel continued, nodding at Connor, who merely shrugged indifferently. "We'll go back for your car tomorrow, but don't expect to be driving it for awhile."

Angel stood up and wrapped an arm around each of them simultaneously. Spike returned the embrace enthusiastically, finding he was grateful for the forgiveness, even if Angel was still plenty pissed off. He wouldn't stay mad forever, and maybe soon they could even laugh about this... Well, okay. Probably not.

Connor's pride was a little hurt, though—and his ass a lot hurt—and he hung back and offered the smallest amount of affection that he knew he could get away with. Angel gave him a look. It wasn't hurt, and it wasn't angry; it was just curious and accepting. Connor turned without another word and left the room, holding on to his sore bottom as he went.

He was pretty tired, but if he started now, he could be packed and ready to leave by morning.


	35. Chapter 35

"Whatcha doin'?" Spike finally asked.

He'd been standing there leaning on the door frame for at least the past five minutes just watching Connor, who was so busy scuttling around the room and muttering to himself that he hadn't even noticed.

"Huh?" he asked guiltily, caught off guard.

Spike nodded at the half-full suitcase on the bed and raised his eyebrows.

"None of your business," Connor answered brusquely, returning to his work of haphazardly shoving clothes into the case. "Get lost."

"He smacked us good, didn't he?" Spike asked lightly, giving his bottom a dramatic rub that was only partly for show. "I think my arse might permanently smart." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think it was worth it, though, don't you?"

Connor's brow furrowed, and he didn't bother answering.

"So Angel smacked you. So what? Doesn't mean you have to run off to get back at him," Spike observed. "He's probably sorry already, lying in there thinking up something he can do to make it up to you and get back in your good graces. That's what he does, you know."

"I said get lost," Connor repeated.

"Don't leave, Connor!" Spike pleaded, crossing the room and trying to get his mate to slow down for five seconds and pay attention to him. "You aren't thinking rationally right now. Just sleep on it for a bit. You'll feel better in the morning."

"It is morning," Connor murmured, nodding toward the window.

"Oh. Right."

Connor gently moved Spike out of his way and reached an arm under his bed to feel around for his shoes.

"Where will you go?" Spike asked, his tone bordering on a whine.

"None of your business," Connor said again, thinking that should probably be his standard answer for this whole ordeal.

"It was just a smacking!" Spike exclaimed. "It's not like you never got one before."

"That's not the point," Connor said hotly. "And I don't want to talk about this with you."

"It wasn't so bad," Spike said. "You didn't even cry."

Actually, it had been pretty horrible, and they both knew it.

When Connor refused to reply or acknowledge him further, Spike slammed his suitcase shut and hopped deftly up on top of it to sit.

"Move, please," Connor said tersely.

"Nuh uh," Spike said maturely, holding firmly to the edges of the suitcase with his hands and rocking back and forth to avoid the halfhearted slaps that Connor aimed at his body. "You can't go."

"I can and I will," Connor said firmly. "I'm a grown man, not that anybody around here seems to remember that. I can leave if I want."

"You'll regret it," Spike warned annoyingly. "You'll be back in day or two. Hell, you'll be back in a few hours, tops!"

Connor felt his pride flare up at that total lack of confidence in his resolve, and he shoved Spike rather harder than he meant to, sending him sprawling sideways onto the bed—but at least he was off his suitcase.

"Well … Well, how do you plan to go anywhere, anyway?" Spike blurted out, grabbing hold of the case and sliding it jerkily back and forth as Connor attempted to put more things in it. "Papa took your keys."

"I took them back," Connor replied easily.

"What do you mean?" Spike asked warily. "You … You mean you asked for them and he just handed them over? Just like that?"

Not exactly just like that, no.

Connor's face flushed with embarrassment, which was all the explanation that Spike needed.

"You stole them out of his room!" he accused, but somehow his tone managed to hold more awe than condemnation.

"I didn't _steal_ them," Connor clarified. "You can't steal what's yours to begin with."

"What about your wallet?" Spike asked suddenly, becoming more desperate to talk Connor out of this nonsense as the suitcase became steadily fuller. "You've lost your wallet. How will you buy things?"

"I'll be fine," Connor answered.

"Have you called and canceled your debit card?" Spike asked.

Connor sighed and told him yes. He hadn't really, not yet, but he didn't want to admit that he'd let it completely slip his mind.

"Well, you can't leave!" Spike said with determination. "I'm getting Angel!"

Connor grabbed his arm and jerked it painfully backwards when Spike attempted to flee the room.

"Ow! Lay off!" Spike shouted, rubbing at his shoulder, which he felt sure had been nearly yanked out of its socket.

"Look, I'm sorry," Connor whispered, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "Just … Just let me do this, okay?"

"You're being stupid!" Spike whispered back hotly.

He wasn't sure why he was whispering, or for that matter, why Connor was being so bloody stupid about everything. _Of course_ he'd gotten in trouble—he'd gone out and raised hell and taken a teenager along for the ride! What had he thought would happen, that Angel would clap him on the back and congratulate him for being just like him? Well, he _was_ just like Angel, so he should have known that wouldn't be the case.

"So he paddled you, so what?" Spike asked shrilly, working himself into a right state. "That's what dads _do_! You screw up, and they deal with you. And it doesn't matter how old you are, or how old you _think_ you are, because he's still your dad! He could have done a lot worse, you know! Angelus used to … Well, it just could have been a lot worse is all!"

Connor sighed heavily and snapped his suitcase shut. He grabbed his phone to check it before shoving it into his pocket, and noticed that it was in airplane mode. Oops. He hadn't realized that before. Angel had mentioned that he'd called him a couple times. His dad was probably really worried when he hadn't answered or called him back. A wave of fresh guilt washed over him, but he took a deep breath and tried to let it dissipate. It didn't help that when he looked back up at Spike, giant teardrops were rolling down his face.

"Hey, don't," he said gently. "It's not forever. I'll be back. I'm … I'm probably gonna look for an apartment, you know, and then … then I'll be back to get the rest of my stuff, and you can come over whenever you want..."

"Don't care. Not interested," Spike interrupted coldly, running his forearm over his face to get rid of the stupid tears. "You're a bloody idiot. I hope you know that."

Connor tried to reach out and give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but Spike pulled out of his grasp and stalked out the door. A few seconds later, his own door slammed so hard that Connor was sure Angel would get up to investigate, but he didn't, which was kind of a disappointment.

He hefted the suitcase into his hand and readjusted it a few times to get a more comfortable grip. There was a lot in it, and it was heavy. His sister had always told him that he packed like a girl.

One quiet walk down the hallway and silent descent down the staircase, and he was out the door. He wasn't sneaking, he told himself. Surely Angel had heard all that commotion, and if he didn't want to try and stop him, that was fine. The last thing he wanted was a big confrontation about it … Right?

Well, all he had to do now was swing by and get his car, go to the bank to get his finances straightened out from the lost wallet, and … and what? He frowned deeply as he stared daggers at the sidewalk, already hot from the morning sun.

* * *

Spike rolled his eyes as he watched Connor from the high window of the empty room. He was going to turn around and come back any moment now, he was sure of it.

_Yes, that's it... Turn around... Act like you have something resembling brains in your thick head... _

No. Clearly he had no sense—he was, after all, Angel's child. Spike waited for him to take two steps down the sidewalk before he bolted toward Angel's room, his feet pounding the floor in such a way as to make him sound more like an elephant than a stealthy, lithe creature of the night.

"Angel, Connor's leaving!" he blurted out immediately as he flung the door open and turned on the light in Angel's darkened room. "He's already down the sidewalk!"

Angel murmured something and pulled a pillow over his face.

"Angel, didn't you hear me?" Spike asked, shaking him slightly and demanding his full attention. "I said he's _leaving_. Like, for good!"

"And I said I know," Angel repeated into the pillow, though it was the first time Spike had actually been able to discern the words.

Of course he knew. He'd been listening to them argue about it for the past twenty minutes, and as much as he had wanted to storm in there and put a stop to the idea, he'd felt it wouldn't have been the right thing to do.

"Well … you … Y-you're not just gonna _let_ him, are you?" Spike asked in disbelief, reaching out and physically removing the pillow from Angel's grasp.

"He needs his space," Angel said quietly, draping one arm over his eyes since his pillow had been taken. "I respect him enough to let him have it."

"Wh—I—That … That's just the dumbest..." Spike pinched the bridge of his nose purely to help curb the urge to pinch Angel. "Angel, that's just stupid. Let's go get him! Bring him home and tell him you're sorry!"

"I'm not sorry," Angel said calmly. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Well, good thing that's neither here nor there, then, isn't it?" Spike asked sarcastically.

He reached out and ripped the covers clean off his grandsire, who made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and rolled over on his side.

"Did you just growl at me?" Spike asked incredulously. "Get up, Papa! This is serious!"

Angel still wasn't sure how he felt about this seventeen-year-old version of Spike calling him Papa. He hadn't done it sarcastically, not once. In fact, he didn't even seem to notice he was doing it at all, and that was … weird.

"Why won't you go get him?" his grandchilde asked pleadingly. "Why are you both so stubborn?"

Spike's voice cracked on the last couple of words, and Angel quickly glanced up to see that he was struggling to hold back tears. Great. Now he'd made him cry. He really was a monster of the worst kind, and it had nothing to do with being a vampire.

"Hey," he said gently, sitting up and scooting over on the bed as he patted the spot next to him. "Come here."

"No," Spike said, his bottom lip jutting out in a petulant pout as he scrubbed furiously at his face in an attempt to hide the treacherous tears.

"Come here," Angel said more firmly, throwing in a pointed look for good measure.

Spike sniffled and let out a long-suffering sigh, but he planted himself on the bed next to Angel anyway and let his papa wrap his arm around his shoulders.

"Aren't you exhausted?" Angel asked gently. "I am."

"No," Spike said, sniffling some more. "I feel fine. You're just old."

Angel laughed slightly and poked Spike playfully in the ribs before giving him a reassuring, sideways squeeze of a hug.

Spike pulled his knees up under his chin and turned his face away from him. He felt terribly conflicted. On the one hand, he was furious with Angel, and he didn't at all understand why he wasn't going after his stupid kid and begging his forgiveness—whether he really was apologetic or not. On the other hand, he found that he rather enjoyed this individual comfort and attention he was getting … and that just made him feel rotten.

"He'll come back," Angel murmured after a few minutes. "You'll see."

"What if he doesn't?" Spike asked. "What if we never see him again?"

"Impossible," Angel answered.

"How do you mean?" Spike asked, turning curious eyes on him.

"He's got two days," Angel said lightly, deciding to give Spike a rare glimpse into the inner workings of his mind. "If he's not home by then, we'll find him and drag him back. Just like I should have done with you."

"I can help?" Spike asked, ignoring the last part of that statement as his spirits lifted considerably.

"Of course."

"Can we hog tie him?" he asked brightly. "And carry him between us? Like, you get his wrists and I get his feet?"

"Um … Sure," Angel said slowly, wondering at the overactive imagination that he seemed to possess.

"Okay," Spike said, nodding his approval. "Two days. But no more than that, right?"

"No more than that," Angel agreed, giving Spike a quick kiss on his blond-tipped locks.

"Yuck, don't," he protested, though the ghost of a smile on his lips suggested he hadn't minded too much.

"I have to get some sleep, pal," Angel said apologetically as he slid back down into the bed. "Chasing after you two all night really wore me out. Flip off that light, will ya?"

Spike crawled reluctantly out of bed and darkened the room. He started hesitantly back toward Angel, who'd replaced the pillow over his eyes, unsure if what he wanted to do was really allowed or not. He licked his lips uncertainly and made several false starts before he decided, screw it! The worst Angel could do was to push him away. He slipped onto the bed next to his papa, being careful not to touch him, and waited to see what Angel would say.

Angel stiffened slightly at first, but then he shifted and wrapped his arm around his Will, pulling him in close to his side. Snuggling with Spike! If that wasn't the most ridiculous thing...

Spike, needing no clearer invitation, loosely looped his arm right around Angel's stomach and rested his cheek on his chest.

"Goodnight, Papa," he murmured sleepily.

"Goodnight, Will."

Suddenly, it didn't seem so ridiculous anymore. It seemed right. It seemed perfect.


	36. Chapter 36

_A/N: There's bad language in this chapter. _

* * *

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! For the love of God, and also fuck.

"I'm going to kill him," Connor murmured, staring at the now empty space on the curb where he was sure his car used to be. "I am going to _kill _him."

He tossed his bag roughly to the ground and whipped out his phone to snap a picture of that lovely "No Parking Here to Curb. Violators Will Be Towed" sign in front of Willy's dive, empty and derelict-looking in the morning light. He would send it in a nasty email to Spike later.

How was he supposed to make his grand getaway with no wheels? Walking around aimlessly sounded a lot less appealing than driving a cool Mustang around aimlessly, so he got the number from the sign for the impound lot where his car now likely resided and made the call.

They had his car. Good. Great. He took a deep breath and headed in that direction on foot. Things were looking up. He had canceled his debit card, but he'd gotten some cash out of the bank to tide him over until his replacement plastic came, so he could pick up the car. He would collect his baby, and then he could figure out where to go from there.

* * *

Angel slowly came to, but he refused to open his eyes. He'd been around long enough to know how things worked, and he'd be damned if the universe was going to have this laugh at his expense. He knew good and well that when he finally opened his eyes, he would find that the kid still snuggled up into his side had reverted to the full-grown man, and all hell would break loose.

Well.

He just wouldn't open his eyes, then.

Problem solved, for a little while at least.

He shifted gently and ran his fingers through Will's hair, contemplating the last few days and all his many mistakes. He hadn't even been out of bed yet and already he missed his son terribly. Two days was a long time. Perhaps he should abandon that notion and just go and get him now...

Spike sighed deeply in his sleep and rolled over, dumping himself straight into the floor like he'd done on his first night back. This time, however, he didn't remain peacefully asleep.

"Ow! Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, rubbing at the back of his head where he'd whacked it on the way down.

Angel reluctantly opened his eyes and gazed down into the floor beside him.

Oh.

Spike was still Will after all. Well, Spike was always Will, but … He was still young.

The two simply stared silently at each other for a few seconds, Angel wondering if Spike would be embarrassed to have slept in the same bed with him, and Spike wondering if Angel was going to yell at him for swearing. When neither event came to pass, Spike got himself and his injured dignity out of the floor and made a big show of dusting himself off.

"Why'd you push me?" he demanded.

"What?" Angel laughed incredulously. "I didn't push you!"

"You musta," Spike protested. "How else would I have ended up in the floor? If you wanted me to get up, all you had to do was say so."

"I did not push you," Angel repeated. "I wouldn't do that."

"Right," Spike muttered with a snort, making his way to Angel's closet and picking out clothes as if they belonged to him.

"Sure, you can wear that," Angel murmured to himself. "No need to ask or anything."

"Great, thanks," Spike replied easily, taking his clothes to Angel's bathroom.

"Uh, what do you think you're doing?" Angel protested.

"Uh, taking a shower," Spike called back, his tone clearly assigning Angel a high level of stupidity. "You might have heard of it. You turn on the tap, the water runs out?"

"You have your own bathroom," Angel reminded him.

"Awww," Spike said over the water that he'd already turned on. "Please, Papa, can't I use yours?"

Angel rolled his eyes. He was afraid this would be a … a _thing_ now. Spike would call him Papa whenever he wanted something and, Angel being Angel, he would cave immediately.

"I don't want this, though!" Spike suddenly called, opening the door and tossing out Angel's hairbrush. "You can keep that thing away from me."

"You deserved every lick," Angel said sternly. "In fact, with that attitude, you probably deserve a few more."

He heard the lock turn in the bathroom door and smiled.

* * *

"Yes, but I can't _give_ you my I.D. because I don't _have_ it," Connor repeated yet again, more slowly this time. "I lost my wallet last night, and the DMV is closed today. But I swear that I am Connor Reilly, that that is my car, and that I need to get it out."

"Sorry, kid," the man said, sounding more heartless than sorry. "No I.D., no car. Those are the rules."

Connor pounded his forehead on the metal fence post in frustration.

"Please?" he tried. "Please, can I have my car?"

"Look, kid, I'm just doing my job," the man replied. "Maybe next time, you'll think twice before parking a flashy car like that where it shouldn't be parked. You shoulda known better."

"Thanks for nothing," Connor grumbled, reluctantly gathering his things and walking off.

Coffee would help. He'd get one of those to help him think. He was incredibly tired, not having slept at all after the previous night's drunken escapades, and things just … well, they weren't going as well as he'd hoped. He kinda thought Angel might have called him by now to demand that he bring his ass straight home, but he hadn't. Angel was stubborn, he knew—that was where he'd gotten it—and while Connor also knew that his dad would eventually call, it might be awhile. Maybe he was being childish about the whole thing, but then again, Angel was the one who'd gone all holier-than-thou and cracked the whip … or the hairbrush.

Twenty-five years old and he'd gotten put across his dad's knee! And worse, it had actually hurt. Jesus, how humiliating. He felt his face flush at the thought, and he stirred vigorously at the swill passing for coffee in front of him.

This was all Spike's fault, anyway. He should have known better than to let himself be dragged along in any of Spike's schemes. Regular Spike was bad enough, but Spike Lite was even more energetic and full of life … un-life … and just looking for any sort of trouble to get into. He was probably already lighting up a cigarette behind the Hyperion just hoping that Angel would catch him at it.

Connor laughed at the image, but caught himself and schooled his features back into a pensive frown. Well, one comforting thought, maybe the only one out of the whole mess, at least Spike had gotten his ass beat, too. He seemed to accept it without too much fuss, something that the adult Spike would never have done. In fact, wasn't that a big part of the reason he'd left the last time? Connor wasn't entirely clear on the details, because Angel wasn't big on sharing, but he was pretty sure it was.

Yeah, see. So what if he hadn't really been out on his own in a long time? Spike had left, and he'd stayed gone a good long while, too. Of course, he'd also managed to slight an evil ex-girlfriend and get himself turned into a small child, so... Maybe Spike wasn't the best example to follow.

Connor groaned and dropped his head down onto his folded arms on the table. He had no debit card, no driver's license, and no car. He really didn't want to, but he knew what he had to do. He had to go home…


	37. Chapter 37

"Oh, but please, Papa, _please_ can't I have it back?" Spike begged.

"No," Angel replied firmly, turning the newspaper page with infuriating calm.

"Please?" Spike tried again, crafting the finest pair of puppy dog eyes that two blue orbs could form.

It wasn't doing any good, of course, because Angel refused to look at him. If he could just get his attention, just for like five seconds, he was sure he could win him over and convince him to give back his iPod.

"But you've kept it almost a whole day!" he pleaded, bouncing up and down on his toes.

"And I'll be keeping it for several more whole days," Angel informed him.

"Uh! But I'm being good!"

Angel finally did look up, but his expression wasn't reassuring.

"Bugger bloody all," Spike muttered under his breath as Angel's attention returned to the sodding newspaper. "Wanker!"

"Care to repeat that?" Angel asked mildly.

Spike sat down on the couch with the loudest huff he dared and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well … Well, what are we going to do all night? Just sit here?" he asked incredulously.

"Yep," Angel said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Can't we go out on a case or something? Fight some bad guys?"

"Nope."

"Well … Can't we watch a movie or something, at least?"

"Nope. You're still grounded."

"Aww, come on!" Spike whined. "Please?"

"No."

"_Please_?"

"Ask me again and it's a spanking," Angel threatened, though Spike could tell he wasn't serious … well, not _too_ serious.

Still, he waited several seconds before speaking again, and when he did, he made sure to keep the whining to a minimum.

"But if we could just..."

Angel set his paper aside with a sigh and rose to his feet.

"No, don't smack me!" Spike said, laughing nervously as Angel approached him. "No, Angel, I was joking! I was joking!"

He pulled his legs up underneath him and tried to fend Angel off by throwing his hands out in front of him, but the older man easily flipped him over and raised his arm high.

"No, don't! Ow! Ow!" Spike yelled.

Angel gave an amused snort and gathered Spike's wrists at the small of his back.

"I haven't even touched you yet," he pointed out. "Why are you yelling?"

"Oh. Well, it still hurts from the last time, Papa," Spike offered, his voice small, piteous, and fake as all get out.

Angel rolled his eyes, knowing that wasn't true in the least, but instead of administering the spanking he had fully intended to give—his patience could only withstand so much gnawing at it before it cracked, after all—he poked his boy playfully in the side before launching a full-scale tickle attack.

"Oh—oh god, stop!" Spike squealed, writhing uncontrollably as he tried unsuccessfully to get away. "What are you—don't do—why—I-I can't breathe! I can't breathe!"

"You don't need to breathe," Angel reminded him calmly as he continued his assault. "So I guess we can just keep this up all night. Days, even."

"Please, I can't! I can't stand this. Let me go! Let me go!"

Despite his attempt to remain stoic and unaffected, Spike began to laugh. It was music to Angel's ears. When was the last time he had heard that laugh, pure and uncontaminated by the usual cynicism his grandchilde normally possessed? Had he _ever_ heard it?

"Oh, you think this is funny, young man?" he asked with mock sternness. "Do you?"

"Y-yes," Spike laughed, trying in vain to break free from the grip his grandsire had on him. "Stop it!"

"I said _no more questions_," Angel said, lightly swatting him three times on the backside for emphasis.

"Okay, okay!" Spike exclaimed. "Don't spank!"

"Are you done asking me questions?" Angel asked, his hand poised and ready to strike again.

"Yes!" Spike promised, wrenching his wrists free and reaching back to cover his behind. "Yes!"

Angel moved his hands and gave him one hard smack for good measure.

"Ow! Papa!"

Angel let him up, and watched with amusement as the kid gave him a rather mutinous look while rubbing the sting from his bottom. Spike fell silent, but Angel doubted it had much to do with the threat of more punishment. When had that ever stopped him?

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, dropping down beside him.

Spike shook his head like he didn't want to talk about it.

"I miss Connor, too," Angel offered, guessing the problem. "But we'll see him soon."

"It's all my fault!" Spike blurted out sadly. "He didn't want to go out last night. He told me no and everything. But … But you know how I am! I kept at it until I got him to give in. I just wanted to have some fun."

"And did you?" Angel asked with a single raised eyebrow.

"Well … Well, yeah," Spike answered sheepishly. "Up to a point."

"Up to the point where I had to come and get you?" Angel asked dryly.

"Yeah. That point," Spike murmured. "And I … I should have said something last night. I shouldn't have let you lay into him for it when it was all my fault."

"And since when do you get to make my decisions for me, hmm?" Angel asked. "Connor is a grown man. No matter what you said to him, he shouldn't have let you go out, and he damn sure shouldn't have gone _with _you."

"He's really angry with me," Spike said sadly. "And with you."

"He'll get over it," Angel said. "Do you need another dose of the hairbrush to help you get over it?"

"No! What are you, crazy?" Spike said, eyes wide.

"Then I don't wanna hear any more about your guilt in the matter," Angel said resolutely. "You both made your decisions. Poor, poor decisions."

"Okay, Angel," Spike said with a dejected sigh. "I'm sorry."

Angel wrapped his arm around his Will and gave him a kiss on top of his head.

Spike figured that was as good a time as any to ask,

"But are you sure we couldn't just watch a movie?"

* * *

Connor couldn't remember the last time he'd been in such a foul mood. Sure, he was irritable quite a bit, but _this_... this was a mood. Having to first ride the bus and then walk all those miles with that heavy, awkward suitcase certainly hadn't helped matters, and he really missed his damn car, no matter how ugly Angel said it was. Oh well. At least he'd finally made it.

With that thought, he opened his hand and let the suitcase fall to the ground with a thud. He could hear rather loud music from within and, after waiting for several seconds with no answer, wondered if they could even hear the doorbell over the bassy thump. He had his own key, of course, but he didn't feel it would be polite to just let himself in. He was just about to ring a second time when a girl about his sister's age answered.

"Well, hello," she said with what she clearly hoped was a seductive, approving smile. "Here for the party, I assume?"

"Uh…" Connor said eloquently, looking around the girl and peering into his parents' living room which, judging solely from the number of red Solo cups lying around, appeared to be packed full of drunk college students.

"Come on in," the girl invited, stepping back to make way for him. "Abby won't mind."

Oh, no. Of course not. Abby wouldn't mind. But Laurence and Colleen Reilly were going to kill her!


	38. Chapter 38

"Abby!" the girl called helpfully as she ushered Connor through the living room and toward the kitchen area. "Abby! There's a guy here. I think he wants you."

"In a minute!" he heard his sister call. "I'm doing shots!"

Connor speechlessly followed his new tour guide through the kitchen and into the den, where they arrived just in time to see Abby, on her knees in front of the coffee table, throw back an oversized "shot" from a highball glass. She got it all down, amid much cheering and hollering, and looked exceedingly proud of herself until the glass made its way back to the table and she glanced up to see her brother.

"Connor!" she shrieked, anything but happy to see him standing there. "Oh my God. Oh my God."

She looked around the room for help, but no one was paying her the least bit of attention now that shot time had ended. She waved both her hands helplessly at her sides in a sort of panicked bird flapping motion that Connor found hilarious, but he fought hard to keep his expression blank.

"Oh my God," she repeated, getting to her feet.

She rushed toward him and snatched him up by the arm, dragging him forcefully out of her friend's clutches and away from her drunken comrades.

"What are you _doing_ here?" she hissed urgently. "Did Mom and Dad send you to check up on me or something?"

"No," Connor answered, though he was sorely tempted to tell her yes just to see her reaction. "Where uh … Where _are _Mom and Dad, by the way?"

Abby huffed and gave him a scathing look.

"Flew to Mexico for the weekend. You'd know that if you ever bothered to call."

"Oh," Connor said, somewhat abashed though he didn't really feel he should be. "Well, uh, what … what's this all about?"

He nodded back toward the room they'd left full of intoxicated merrymakers.

"_Please _don't tell Mom and Dad!" Abby begged. "Please! I just wanted to have a few friends over. I wasn't doing anything wrong!"

Connor had heard that high-pitched whine before in his own voice enough to know that she didn't believe a word she was saying, but he didn't think it was his place to go all sanctimonious and start scolding her for something he would have done in a heartbeat, too. Still...

"Last time I checked, you're not twenty-one yet," he pointed out. "And I don't think that was apple juice I saw you chugging in there."

"Connor," she grumbled. "It was just a few drinks!"

"Was?" he asked. "So you're done for the night, then?"

Abby made that delightful bird flapping hand motion again, and Connor couldn't help but grin at her.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not Dad. And I'm not the alcohol police. It's not my business."

"Then why are you here?" she asked, but the question wasn't snotty like he'd expected. "Did you break up with that guy or something?"

Oh geez. He really needed to come up with some sort of plausible explanation for why he lived in a hotel with a twenty-six-year-old man that didn't involve vampires, fabricated family ties, _or _civil unions, but well, he just hadn't gotten around to it yet.

"Abby, I've told you, we're not..." he started, but decided it would just have to wait. "Look, I just need a place to crash for tonight. Well, maybe a few nights, I don't know. Let's talk about this in the morning. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed with a reluctant nod. "But you won't tell on me, right?"

"Cross my heart," Connor said solemnly.

"Thanks, big brother!" Abby exclaimed in relief, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. "You're the best!"

"I know," Connor answered, reaching down to get his suitcase. "My room, is it still, you know, my room? Not like, turned into an office or a game room or anything?"

"Yeah," Abby answered. "They're not gonna give away the Prodigal's room. Though I haven't seen Aiden and Maci for awhile, so... Yeah, just make sure you turn on the lights when you go in there."

Connor pulled a disgusted face before telling his sister goodnight and mounting the steps to his old room. He was so exhausted that he doubted even the drunken revelry downstairs was going to keep him from sweet, sweet slumber.

* * *

"Whatcha doing?" Angel asked after he had watched Spike for a long time.

"Writin'," Spike answered, not looking up from his journal. "What are you doing?"

"What are you writing?" Angel asked, ignoring Spike's perfunctory question.

"Stuff," Spike replied. "It's private. You can't read it."

"I didn't say I wanted to," Angel answered.

"You do, though," Spike responded. "You're afraid it's all about you."

"...Well, is it?" Angel asked after a moment's pause.

Spike grinned cheekily and glanced up at him from under his eyelashes.

"Not all of it," he finally answered, returning to the scribbling. "But a good bit of it, yeah."

Angel crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at his teenager, wondering if this was one of those times where it would be admissible for him to force further information from him, but unfortunately, he knew it wasn't.

"Are you writing poetry?" he asked instead.

"What? No!" Spike scoffed in a tone clearly indicating that yes, yes he was. "I don't do that anymore."

"Why not?" Angel asked.

"I just don't," Spike answered hotly. "Leave me alone."

"I liked your poems," Angel said gently. "There's nothing wrong with writing poetry."

"I _know_ that, Angel!" Spike said, rolling his eyes. "But that's not what I was doing, okay? I was … drawing. Here, see?"

He flipped back a few pages and held his journal up just long enough for Angel to glimpse a cartoon caricature of himself, every hair on his head standing at full attention.

"That me?" Angel asked unnecessarily.

"No, it's me," Spike answered sarcastically, but then gave him a sheepish look just in case he'd taken the attitude too far. "It was just a doodle. You know I can't draw like you can."

"It was cute," Angel said reassuringly.

"You would say that about your own ugly mug," Spike mumbled, shutting his journal and shoving it up underneath his pillow since it didn't appear that Angel was going to leave him alone.

He stared up at him for several seconds, but he didn't offer any further explanation as to why he was in Spike's room.

"Am I in trouble or something? I was just being quiet like you told me to," Spike offered. "I wasn't doing anything else, I swear."

Angel laughed.

"I know," he answered.

"Oh."

Angel fell irritatingly silent again, and it was starting to make Spike squirm. What did he want? He'd already got onto him all night long for any and everything, and now that he'd finally just gone to his room to have "quiet time," as Angel had put it, here the big gorilla was breathing down his neck again. Well, figuratively speaking, anyway.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"I … I think we should talk," Angel stammered out awkwardly.

"About?" Spike asked, genuinely clueless.

"You and me," Angel replied, coming and scooting Spike over so he could sit next to him.

"Okay, Papa," Spike said uneasily.

"About that, for one," Angel said, and Spike just looked at him. "The … the 'papa' thing."

"Oh," Spike said quietly, frowning. "You don't want me to call you that? Okay, Angel, I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"No!" Angel said quickly. "It's not that, it's just … Spike, you're gonna be embarrassed. I know you don't think so right now, but you will be. Not just about calling me that. About a lot of things we've done over the past few weeks."

Spike sat up and folded his legs underneath him. He played with the frayed hem of Angel's old black jeans that he was wearing and just stared at his own feet for a moment.

"I know I'm not me right now," he finally answered. "I mean, I am, but I'm not. I _feel_ like me … but then again, I don't. I … I'm not explaining this very well."

"I think I understand," Angel said. "Go on."

"Well, I just mean... I wish I could keep _this_ body! I'm young and energetic and..."

"Happy?" Angel asked. "Yeah. I wasn't happy when I was seventeen. Neither was Connor. Happiness doesn't run easily in our family, I guess."

"Guess I'm some sort of weirdo," Spike replied with a grin. "But things that used to seem like a big deal just don't anymore, not right now. And you … You're a lot nicer to me, even though I'm getting on your nerves."

"You're not," Angel started, but Spike interrupted.

"Yeah, I am," he said knowingly. "Look, Angel, I know it's not going to last. I realize that. I can almost sorta feel it, you know? Feel that the change is coming, and then I'll be me again, _really_ me. And you don't like that me, so things will be different. I get that, so you don't have to worry, all right?"

"What do you mean, I don't _like_ that you?" Angel asked angrily. "William, that's not what I meant, not at all."

Spike shrugged helplessly. He didn't know what more Angel wanted from him. He'd opened up and been as honest as he knew how to be, but it only seemed to piss his grandsire off.

"I have half a mind to put you over my knee for that, young man," Angel threatened.

"You can't punish me for how I feel!" Spike protested shrilly. "All I said was—"

Blessedly, a loud crash from the lobby interrupted what Spike knew was about to turn into a confrontation. He exchanged glances with Angel, and they both leapt to their feet to go check out the ruckus.


	39. Chapter 39

"Hello?" Angel called as he cautiously peered over the railing of the staircase and down into his lobby. "Who's there?"

"Where is he?" a rough, angry voice demanded as what appeared to be his second or third chair flew through the lobby and landed with a damaging crash.

Spike bounded up behind Angel and was about to pass him, but Angel stopped him with a hand to his chest and then put a gentle finger to his lips to silence him.

"I'm coming down," Angel called. "But I'm warning you—you'd better stop trashing my house, or I'm gonna have to kick your ass."

Spike grinned, eager to participate in whatever mayhem was about to occur, but Angel leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

"Stay here, Will. I mean it. Keep quiet until I see what he wants."

Spike turned a pleading, that's-not-fair look on him—leave it to Angel to try and keep him from all the fun!—but Angel only looked serious and worried, so he didn't push the issue.

"I want this _boy_ out here _now_!" the man demanded angrily.

"What boy?" Angel asked as his feet finally touched the lobby floor.

Human. Angel wasn't sure exactly what he had expected—the worst, probably, like always—but the man was definitely human. He'd have to remember to keep his temper in check and not damage him too badly. Pity. He really wanted to punish someone for the beating his lobby furniture was taking.

"Now!" the man repeated, and as Angel crossed the floor and closed in on him, he could see that someone had done a number on this man already. "He's gonna pay!"

If this man, this … victim? ... with his two black eyes and split lip had sought out Angel Investigations for help, he was certainly going about it the wrong way. Angel, regardless of whether or not he was for hire, didn't take kindly to being ordered around, and he didn't always handle intake interviews with the finesse this potential customer would clearly need. Connor normally took care of things like that.

"Calm down," Angel said firmly. "I can see that you're angry, but I can't help you unless you explain the situation to me."

There. That was good, right? Polite, professional. He had even resisted the urge to pick the man up by the throat to make him stop destroying the furniture. His son would be proud.

"Now," he said once the man was only breathing hard but not dumping over couches. "What boy?"

The man reached into his jacket, and for a moment Angel was on the defensive, but he relaxed slightly when all the biker-looking guy produced was a wallet. Quick as a flash, though, the man slammed it down open on the coffee table and stabbed a large Bowie knife straight through the driver's license photo of one Connor S. Reilly.

* * *

Spike couldn't stand it any longer. He was patient, honest he was, but the suspense was killing him. What was going on down there? No matter how hard he craned his neck, he couldn't seem to get a good enough view, and while he could plainly hear the words being exchanged, they didn't clue him in, either.

Were they talking about him? The word "boy" had been thrown back and forth a couple times. He was a boy, the only one he knew of currently; they had to be talking about him, didn't they? He didn't recognize the voice, though, so if he'd done something to earn the man's ire, he had no idea what it might have been.

If he could just see a little better...

"Connor?" he heard Angel ask, and that sealed the deal.

Spike decided to just skip the inconvenient obstacle of stairs and leapt all the way from the first-floor landing to the shiny lobby hardwood below, arriving with much less grace than he'd intended and twisting his ankle painfully.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted, grabbing at his injured leg. "Why do I keep doing that!"

Angel and his client were stunned into silence for all of three seconds before Angel looked ready to throttle him on the spot and the irate man pointed a shaking finger at him and roared a menacing,

"You!"

"Him?" Angel asked as Spike offered up a "Me?"

"You were there, too!" the man clarified, then turned his gaze to Angel. "The two of them trashed my place last night!"

Angel held up a placating hand, inviting the man to be quiet for just a moment. He turned to Spike and glowered down at him with a complete lack of sympathy for his injury.

"Spike?" he asked. "This isn't Willy."

Spike ducked his head, concentrating hard on the ankle he was clutching and trying to think up some sort of response besides, "Well, duh!" He'd just had a feeling that not telling Angel about all the other mischief they had gotten into _before _going to the demon bar would manage to come back and bite them on the ass. It always did.

"Let me guess," Angel said, turning back to the big man. "Drunken brawl? Flying chairs? Some pissed off bikers? That's kinda their m.o."

"People are scared to come back to my place now!" the man admitted. "Those two are gonna pay for the damages one way or another!"

Spike managed to get to his feet without help and stood just behind Angel and out of his reach, lifting his twisted ankle slightly to keep the weight off it.

"Listen to me," Angel said, his tone serious and no-nonsense. "Look at that boy." He gestured behind him. "Does he look twenty-one to you?"

The man's determined glare faltered a little, but he didn't answer.

"That's what I thought," Angel said smugly. "So what you're telling me is, you came to _my _home, threatening _my_ family, because you don't have sense enough to keep a sixteen-year-old boy out of your seedy, piece of crap bar. Does that sound about right?"

"Seventeen," Spike corrected quietly. "I'm seventeen."

Angel jabbed a warning finger at him without even turning around.

Spike thought the biker might try to start a physical fight with Angel. After all, the man was much larger than his grandsire, though his heft seemed to be in all the wrong places. But, disappointingly, he only looked around Angel to verbally attack Spike.

"You're just lucky your daddy's here to protect you, you little punk," he snarled. "If you were my kid..."

"Yeah, well, he's not your kid," Angel interrupted impatiently, having grown tired of the whole ordeal. "He's my kid, and I'll deal with him accordingly."

"What about my place?" the man asked incredulously as Angel ushered him roughly toward the exit.

"File a claim with your insurance," Angel suggested, pushing the door open with his foot and flinging the man unceremoniously onto the ground.

He'd thought that he was done with him, but he found that he wasn't quite satisfied yet.

He stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him, holding the door handle as he leaned forward to speak quietly, hoping Spike wouldn't hear the bad example he was about to set.

"If I see you around here again," he said, his voice low and ominous, "you or any of your flunkies, or if anything happens to either of my sons, I'm gonna have to do something about it. Understand?"

"Yeah, dude, whatever," the man said, dusting himself off just to have something to do with his hands.

"Good," Angel said before punching him hard in the nose, the only area of his face that didn't appear to have been pummeled already. "And don't ever threaten my family again."

Angel turned, leaving the man holding his gushing nose and babbling something about "freaks," and came back inside to find Spike staring down at Connor's driver's license, still sporting the Bowie knife through the face.

"That guy talked a mean game, but he didn't do much," Spike pointed out.

"Oh, I think he thought we were dangerous or something," Angel said nonchalantly.

"Why's that?" Spike asked. "I didn't see you vamp out or anything. All I saw you do was talk. Listening to you may be life-threatening, but it's not scary..."

Angel reached down and removed the knife from the table.

"I told him I had one like this, too," he said, gesturing toward the weapons cabinet.

"Oh," Spike said with an appreciative grin. "Subtle. I like it."

"Come here," Angel said abruptly, taking him by the arm and leading him toward a couch that hadn't been turned upside down.

"No, Angel, no!" Spike protested just like a little boy who knew he was in trouble, pulling back with all his might.

Angel rolled his eyes and planted Spike's butt firmly on the couch before crouching down to take a look at his ankle.

"Oh," Spike said softly. "I thought you were gonna … never mind."

"Oh, don't you worry. We're not done with this conversation," Angel promised, turning the ankle gently to and fro. "And this wouldn't have happened if you had stayed put like I told you to. But it'll have to wait. Can you walk on this?"

"I think so," Spike replied sheepishly. "It feels better already."

"Good. Get dressed," Angel said, standing and retrieving Connor's wallet.

"Where are we going?" Spike asked.

"Connor's been gone long enough," Angel answered, turning his son's wallet over and over in his hands. "We're gonna go find him. That guy got his address and came looking for him. There could be others. He might be in danger and not even know it."

"But wouldn't they just come here, too, then?" Spike asked, confused.

Angel pulled out a random card from Connor's wallet and held it up.

"The Hyperion isn't the only address in here," he explained.

"He still has mail and stuff that goes to his parents' house?" Spike asked in surprise. "Why?"

"Because, Will, that's what people do," Angel said with a soft sigh, gazing down at the marred picture of his big little boy. "Anything important, it always goes back home."


	40. Chapter 40

"Can I drive?" Spike asked hopefully, but he only received the expected reply of no.

He settled into the passenger seat and reached for the radio dial as soon as he'd gotten himself buckled in. Angel smacked his hand away.

"What?" he protested. "Why can't I pick?"

"We're not listening to the radio," Angel informed him as he started the engine. "We're gonna talk."

"Oh, God," Spike groaned. "Do we have to?"

"Yes."

Spike sighed heavily and sank as far down into the seat as he could go. He wondered what the odds were that he'd accidentally dust himself on a stray stick if he were to jump from the moving vehicle. Knowing his luck of late, probably pretty good.

"What you said earlier, about me not liking you," Angel started.

"Look, Angel, I didn't mean it, all right?" Spike interrupted. "So can we please just forget about it?"

"You meant it. Stop interrupting me," Angel responded crisply.

Spike murmured some indistinct complaint about being scolded like a child and fell silent. He didn't want to talk to Angel anyway. Let the old man get his jollies listening to the sound of his own voice. He would just tune him out like he always did.

"Why this sudden bad mood?" Angel inquired.

Spike remained silent.

"Answer me," Angel demanded.

Spike remained silent.

"_William_," Angel said, his voice thick with warning.

"_Liam_," Spike returned snottily, staring hard out the window beside him.

Angel hit the brakes, and Spike backpedaled immediately.

"All right, Angel, all right!" he said, dismayed that his voice could still even go up that high. "You want me to talk now, I'll talk. Just make up your mind and drive already."

"That's better," Angel said, resuming acceleration after giving him an uncomfortably long, appraising look.

Spike hugged his arms across his chest and waited for the domineering old bastard to say something else, but he didn't. What, was he supposed to be the one to initiate conversation now? Because he'd been under the impression that "talk" meant he was to sit there and listen and speak only when asked a direct question. Angel sure was confusing sometimes.

"What makes you so certain Connor even went to his other family's house, anyway?" Spike finally asked, managing to keep the attitude he felt out of his voice.

"I know my son," Angel replied easily. "He thinks I don't sometimes, but I do. Besides, when your father was displeased with you, are you telling me you didn't run straight to your mother for comfort?"

"That was … That was mostly a non-issue for me, Angel," Spike replied quietly.

"Oh," Angel said with a frown. "I didn't know."

"What's past is past," Spike said, waving it off. "But don't you think we should try tracking him first? What if we drive all the way to the Reillys and he isn't there? How will we find him then?"

"We'll find him," Angel replied.

"But how?"

"We'll find him," Angel repeated.

"We could just call him, you know," Spike suggested. "Unlike you, he does know how to answer the phone."

"I … We're just gonna drive on out there," Angel said, rather awkwardly Spike thought.

He turned and gave him a hard look.

"You don't really think he's in any danger, do you?" he asked. "You're just using that as an excuse to bring him home."

"No."

"You're afraid he won't want to come home," Spike continued knowingly. "That he'll leave if you call, go somewhere else where you really won't be able to find him."

"No," Angel said, though it wasn't his most convincing lie.

"He'll come home," Spike tried to say reassuringly. "But you know what I think would help persuade him?"

"What's that?"

"We should stop and get his car for him."

Angel snorted.

"You think I don't know he took the keys right out of my dresser?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean he used them," Spike pointed out. "Knowing your boy, he probably had a sudden fit of the guilties and just took off on foot instead. We should at least drive by and see if it's there. It's not safe leaving it there, anyway."

"You're just hoping I'll let you drive it," Angel said.

"You do have a spare key, right?" Spike asked hopefully.

Angel sighed, and Spike couldn't really tell what that meant, so he decided to lay it on a little thicker for good measure.

"Please, Papa? I know it would make Connor, the only son you'll ever have in the whole world, really happy..."

Angel gave him quite the sideways glare, but he turned and headed toward Willy's nonetheless. Spike fist pumped the air and whispered a triumphant, "Yes!"

"Don't get your hopes up," Angel warned. "I'm pretty sure that Connor would have come and gotten that car. He loves that car."

"He loves you, too," Spike offered seriously. "He does. I'm his best mate, so I know these things. Privy to all sorts of sordid information, the best mate is..."

"Yeah, well," Angel said after clearing his throat a couple times. "You know what—stop trying to distract me. You know I wanted to talk about _you_."

Spike groaned and looked toward the street again. If he rolled when he landed, he probably wouldn't break any major limbs…

"You know I … I'm very fond of you," Angel said, not quite managing the L word. "I told you that. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

"That may be true, Angel," Spike conceded, "but it doesn't mean you always like me."

Angel sighed an aggravated sigh and reached out and whacked Spike right on the side of his leg.

"Ow!" Spike protested in surprise. "You've got to stop doing that! Hitting people does not make the problems go away!"

"I know," Angel said with a slight grin. "But it makes me feel better."

Spike gave him an incredulous look, but whatever retort he was about to come back with got preempted by their arrival at Willy's.

"Not here," Spike observed, pointing. "I parked it right there. He must've swung by for it."

"Don't be so sure," Angel said, hopping out of the car and walking toward the spot.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure the car's not there," Spike grumbled as he followed. "I mean, do you _see _it?"

"Shut up and take a look, smartass," Angel said, pointing up at a sign.

"Tow away zone," Spike mumbled to himself.

Angel watched with no small measure of amusement as Spike managed to turn even paler than normal. The kid read the sign over and over as if that might change its words, and when it didn't, he put his hands behind his back in a most guilty-looking posture as if Connor might somehow magically materialize in front of him and start yelling.

"You … You don't suppose he got to it first?" he asked hopefully.

"Don't know," Angel said with a shrug.

"Angel," Spike whined. "What if I got his car towed? He'll kill me!"

"Relax. It's not the end of the world… You should know that by now. We'll just run by the impound lot and ask."

"They're closed!" Spike shouted. "It's the middle of the bleedin' night! I need a drink..."

He glanced longingly toward Willy's, which was hopping and seemed to have suffered no lasting damage from the brawling and slaying the guys had done there. Angel would have none of it, though, and took Spike firmly by the arm and marched him back to the car.

"Now," he said once he had the pouting boy back in the passenger seat. "Let's talk about us."


	41. Chapter 41

_A/N: Quite the delay, I know. I've had no privacy to write along with suffering through the cold from Hell. _

* * *

Connor tried sleeping, but it didn't work out. He couldn't quite manage to turn his mind off, and well, he missed his bed at the Hyperion more than he'd thought he would. He wondered what Spike and his dad were doing. Were they thinking about him, too? Was Angel mad at him? A worse thought, did he not even care? He still hadn't called, and Connor knew because his phone lay on the pillow beside him and he'd checked it several times.

He sighed and pulled himself upright after turning on his bedside lamp. After rubbing at his eyes for several seconds, he trekked across the room to his open suitcase and found a t-shirt to pull on. From what he could hear, the party was in full-swing downstairs. Maybe he'd sneak down for just a minute and snag himself a snack or a drink—maybe something less along the lines of milk and cookies and more along the lines of gin and tonic.

* * *

"When … When you're back to normal," Angel said awkwardly, "I … I mean, things are gonna be different between us now."

Spike raised a single eyebrow but didn't comment, allowing Angel to flounder on helplessly, partly for his own amusement and partly to try and hear him out.

"We've been through a lot these past few weeks..."

"We'd been through a hell of a lot more before that," he interrupted. "What makes this so special?"

"It is special," Angel insisted firmly. "It … It just is, okay? I know we haven't always gotten along, but it'll be different now."

"What makes you so certain I want it to be different?" Spike asked, and though his voice was soft, the hostility was clear, and the atmosphere took an immediate turn for the tense.

Angel apparently didn't have an answer for that, but he looked so upset by the comment that Spike felt bad and tried to play it off like he'd been joking.

"I was kidding, Angel," he said, affecting a casual laugh that sounded harsh and tinny in the silence.

Angel still didn't speak, and Spike was starting to get all uncomfortable. Seriously, what did this man want from him? He wished they could just listen to the radio.

"I just meant … things weren't so bad before, Angel," he added softly. "I mean, I didn't think they were. Did you?"

Angel inhaled deeply and just kept his eyes on the road. Spike realized now how infuriating the silent treatment could be, and he didn't think it at all fair that it was being used on _him_.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked.

"No," Angel finally answered. "I suppose I have no right to be. You can't help how you feel."

Despite his words to the contrary, Spike thought Angel sounded plenty angry. He didn't know how to fix it, but for some unknown reason he found himself wanting to try. Maybe things were going to be different, because that was certainly new.

"Don't be mad over what I said, Angel," he pleaded, turning to look at him. "I swear I didn't mean it. Things can be different, all right? Things _will_ be different. I'll try harder this time, and I won't screw up so much. And I'll stay out of your hair, I promise. If you want me to find my own place and move out, I will…"

Angel landed another one of those lightning-fast smacks on the side of his hip, and Spike winced.

"What'd I do this time?" he whined, scooting as far toward the door as the seat belt would allow.

"I don't want you to move out," Angel said quietly, keeping his eyes on the road before him.

"So you _hit_ me? Not sure that's the best way to express it," Spike grumbled, rubbing at the spot.

"You know what, Spike, when you're you again, the first chance we get, you're going over my knee," Angel informed him.

"What for?" Spike squeaked out in incredulous dismay, though he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that the correct reply would have been, "The hell I am!"

"I haven't done anything wrong!" he insisted when Angel didn't answer.

"Oh, you haven't, huh?" Angel asked sarcastically, his voice raising slightly. "So you didn't run away from home, stay gone for three years, fall in with a soulless vampire, get yourself cursed, refuse to call me out of pure stupid stubbornness..."

"I didn't run away!" Spike shouted angrily, latching onto the only accusation he knew for sure he could safely deny. "You threw me out! Or have you conveniently forgotten that little detail?"

"I did not throw you out!" Angel shot back just as fiercely.

"You did!" Spike argued hotly. Things were about to come to a head, he could tell, but he didn't care. Maybe they needed to. "The lack of oxygen up there on your high horse must have just messed with your memory is all!"

"That's it," Angel said through clenched teeth, hitting the brakes so hard the tires squealed and pulling over into a deserted parking lot. "We're doing this right now."

"No!" Spike protested, feeling fear and anger and frustration all knotted into one in his stomach.

Angel flung his door open and stormed to the passenger side. Spike tried to get away by scrambling toward the driver's side door, but he'd hesitated too long, and Angel gripped him painfully by the upper arm and yanked him from the car.

"You can't smack me again!" he shouted angrily. "I won't let you! You're just being mean, and I haven't done anything wrong!"

Angel gave him a shove in the direction of whatever building they were near, and Spike took a few stumbling, involuntary steps toward it before digging his heels in and refusing to move.

"Stop pushing me!" he demanded, turning around and shoving Angel's shoulders firmly backward.

He'd already ducked before he realized no swing was coming. He straightened, wary and ready to have it out, but Angel simply stood there, deceptively calm, and crossed his arms over his chest. The two stared at each other for several long, intense moments, and just as Spike thought he was about to win the contest, his grandsire snatched him up by one arm and rained absolute fire across his backside with the palm of his hand.

"Ow, don't!" he yelled angrily as the hard, unwarranted swats kept coming down on him. "Stop it, Angel! Ow! Stop it!"

Angel didn't stop it, though. If anything, he redoubled the blows, and Spike struggled so furiously to avoid the painful onslaught that he only vaguely realized he was being dragged toward the steps of the dark building. His flustered, panicked brain held only two thoughts: first, how to make Angel stop, and second, how many security cameras must be capturing his public humiliation for all eternity.

In a desperate attempt to thwart his papa's considerable efforts at spanking him to death, he employed a tactic he'd seen small children in grocery stores use and went dead weight, dropping straight down onto the ground beneath him to get his bottom out of harm's way. It hurt when he landed, but that kind of hurt was preferable to the kind Angel had just been inflicting.

"Get up," Angel ordered sternly. "Right now."

Spike didn't reply and glared daggers into the parking lot, feeling his face flush hot with shame and embarrassment and a hundred other emotions he couldn't even name.

"You are going to get up and sit your ass down on those steps over there and talk to me," Angel continued.

Spike continued to stare defiantly at the ground until he heard the distinct clink of a belt buckle. He looked up quickly in alarm and his suspicions were confirmed. Angel doubled the leather in his hand and brandished it at him.

"I mean it, William," he warned. "One..."

Spike took a deep shaky breath, fully intent on telling Angel just where he could stick that thing, but instead the air only came out in sobs as he burst into unexpected tears.

Angel sighed and sank down onto the pavement next to him. He put an arm around him and drew him in for a sideways hug.

"You're all right," he said awkwardly, patting him on the shoulder and stroking his hair. "Calm down. You're all right."

Spike felt completely ridiculous to the point that embarrassed laughter mingled with his strangled sobs. He couldn't believe he was sitting on the ground bawling at seventeen years old! He tried to get himself under control, and since it was Angel's shirt he was wearing, he took particular care to wipe both sleeves across his dripping nose.

"You're okay," Angel murmured. "I didn't spank you that hard."

"You bl-bloody did, too," Spike objected. "You git."

Angel scooted behind him and pulled him straight back into his chest. He petted him some more, murmuring to him to calm down and hush and promising him that he'd be all right. Soon he'd exhausted his tears and felt kinda sorta guilty for the things he'd said and done, including shoving Angel. Maybe he'd had this coming. But it was a big maybe.

"You feel better now?" Angel asked gently. "You ready to get up and talk to me?"

"Not until you put your belt back on," Spike answered gruffly, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

"Okay, champ," Angel agreed with a slight laugh.

"You didn't have to lose it on me like that," Spike complained as he accepted Angel's hand to help him up.

"For your information, you could have avoided that if you hadn't spoken to me the way you did," Angel said sternly as he wiped the tears off Spike's face with his thumbs. "And if you ever shove me like that again…"

"I won't," Spike said quickly, not necessarily meaning it but not wanting to hear the rest of the threat. "Okay? I won't."

Angel nodded to show his acceptance of the halfhearted promise and led Spike to the concrete steps, where he sat him down before joining him there. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to think of some way to get through to the kid, to really make him understand what he was feeling—but hell, he didn't even understand what he was feeling. To his surprise, Spike initiated the talk.

"I'm scared," he admitted, his voice small.

"Of me?" Angel asked in alarm.

Spike rolled his eyes.

"No, you arrogant tw—" he started, and then thought better of it. "No. Not of you. Well, some of you, but that's neither here nor there. I'm scared of me."

"What do you mean?" Angel asked.

"Of what I'll do when … when I change again. Of how I'll react. Of how I'll feel. Of how I'll _look_. All of it."

"You'll look fine," Angel commented unhelpfully.

"What if I don't?" Spike asked. "What if I'm messed up or something now? What if I look older than I did before?"

"You won't," Angel said reassuringly. "The curse doesn't work like that. And so what if it did? You were cute as a button as a six-year-old, you're adorable now, and I'm sure you'd make a fine stallion of an old man."

Spike snorted and shook his head.

"Is this why you've been sulking so much tonight?" Angel asked. "You're worried?"

Spike shrugged one shoulder and then added a belated, "I've not been sulking."

"Right," Angel said dryly. "You can always talk to me, you know. Tell me what's on your mind. I'll always help you if I can. I told you that before, remember?"

Yeah, he remembered...

* * *

_Three years earlier..._

Spike ran as fast as his legs would carry him toward the hotel. He could see the first rays of deadly sunlight making their way up from the horizon. He was cutting it close, he knew, what with having no protective blanket and all, but he would make it. He always did.

He dashed through the lobby doors of the hotel just as the hem of his pants' leg caught fire. He yelped and stomped his heel against the first step of the foyer until the flame was extinguished and only the slightest wisp of smoke remained. He let out a relieved sigh and smiled to himself, throwing an obscene gesture intended for the sun toward the ceiling.

"Where've you been?" Angel asked calmly, appearing seemingly out of thin air with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Spike asked.

"So should you," Angel pointed out. "Where've you been?"

"Nunya," Spike answered smartly, striding past Angel to head for the little fridge in the corner.

"You've been gone for two days," Angel reminded him unnecessarily.

"And?" Spike asked, using his teeth to tear open a packet of pig's blood and gulping it down hungrily straight from the bag. "What's it to you?"

"I want to know where you've been," Angel repeated, his voice taking that low and dangerous tone that it sometimes did.

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Out."

"Out where?"

"_Out_," he repeated emphatically.

"I called you," Angel said. "Several times. Why didn't you answer?"

"Didn't wanna talk," Spike said. "I've heard enough of your voice to last five lifetimes."

In truth, he'd lost his cell phone, but he didn't see any reason to admit to that bit just yet. Or ever.

"Spike," Angel said warningly.

"Angel," Spike replied, mocking his tone.

Angel put his coffee mug down with a thud and advanced on him. Spike remained where he was as he steadily met his gaze and threw the thoroughly drained pig's blood container over his shoulder into the sink behind him.

"You have three seconds to start explaining," Angel said.

"Or what, you'll count at me again?" Spike asked, laughing heartily. "Really bloody scary, that."

In fact, the last time Angel had made it to the count of three, he'd had his grandsire's hand prints on his lower extremities for days. Well, all right, maybe not days, but for at least a good half hour. Still, that would never be enough to stop him wanting to wind Angel up.

Angel appeared unimpressed by his sarcasm and unwilling to get out of his face without an explanation, so Spike sighed and offered one up.

"Clem was in town, so I was just hanging out with him, all right?" he said.

"Clem?" Angel asked. "Who's Clem?"

"A buddy of mine. From Sunnydale."

"He a demon?" Angel asked.

"What if he is?" Spike asked defensively.

"He evil?"

"No. He's … well, he's sort of like … floppy, I guess, but he's not evil."

Angel's massive brow furrowed while he thought that one over, but he decided not to make further inquiries about it.

"What were you two doing?" he asked instead.

"I repeat, nunya," Spike said, trying to slip away, but Angel caught him by the wrist and held him in place.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" he asked.

"Get off me!" Spike replied, jerking his arm away.

"Are you?" Angel pressed. "Is that why you've been gone so long?"

"I can take care of myself," Spike spat, feeling his face heat up as he avoided answering the question.

"Tell me the truth. If you need my help..."

"I don't need your help. Sod off."

"You can't tell me that you've been gone for two days just having fun," Angel said skeptically.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Spike insisted.

It wasn't true, of course. Sure, they'd had fun at first. Spike had taken Clem to all of his favorite L.A. dives to show him a good time. They'd partied and brawled and gotten further and further from home until they were in unfamiliar territory, but even then, it was all right. Only after gambling for kittens turned into gambling for money had they run into trouble.

"Spike, if you'll tell me what's wrong, I'll help you," Angel said, his voice all earnest and paternal.

It made Spike sick.

He rolled his eyes and reached into his coat pocket to retrieve a cigarette. He barely had it to his lips before Angel had smacked it right out of his mouth.

"Hey!" he protested, rather shocked by the action. "Watch it!"

He bent down to pick it up, but Angel latched onto the back of his coat and hauled him to his feet before he had the chance.

"What do you think you're doing!" Spike shouted. "Get off of me! You've no right to touch me!"

Angel actually laughed at his indignant display, which only served to make him angrier. He could feel the blood rise in his face, and before he knew it, they had exchanged hefty punches.

"Stop it, Spike!" Angel demanded, blocking him and countering blow for blow. "All I wanted to do was help you, and you're acting like a spoiled brat!"

"Nobody asked you!" Spike shouted, picking up a nearby lamp and chucking it at Angel's head. "I'm not in any trouble, and I don't need any bloody help from the likes of you!"

"Is that so?" Angel asked, still matching him blow for blow. "Would you care to explain, then, why three scary looking demon bookies with sharp pointy teeth showed up here yesterday looking for you?"

Spike froze in his tracks at that information. He'd thought it seemed a little too easy the way they'd managed to lose their pursuers, but he'd chalked it up to his own cunning and a rare spot of good luck.

"Did you pay them off?" he asked, averting his gaze and touching a finger to his lip to check for blood.

"Of course not," Angel said with a snort. "I took care of it."

Spike figured as much. Angel was doing well these days, better than he'd done in years, especially now that he was allowing Connor to help out with the books part-time on weekends. But the man was still a tightwad at cold dead heart.

"You could have asked me for help, you know," Angel said. "I'll always help you if I can."

Spike threw a disgusted glance in his direction before staring hard at his feet. Angel made him feel all funny inside sometimes, all … guilty or foolish or something. He was a grown man, and he didn't like feeling that way.

"I think you should get to bed now," Angel suggested.

"Get bent!" Spike suggested back, giving him an appraising look. "Who died and made you boss?"

"You're tired," Angel pointed out. "We can talk more later."

"I'm done talking to you," Spike said hatefully. "I don't want or need anything from you, so get off my back."

"Oh really?" Angel asked, finally bristling with the anger Spike had been trying to provoke. "You don't need anything from me?"

"That's right," Spike said, tipping his chin up smugly.

"Then I suppose you don't need your room upstairs, or your bed, or that blood in the refrigerator, or—"

"Oh, come off it, Angel!" Spike shouted. "Stop talking to me like I'm a child. You aren't my father. I don't need a daddy. And if I did, I'm certain I could find one richer and better looking than you!"

"Fine, if you don't need anything from me, then I guess you won't care if I throw you out on your ass!" Angel said angrily, taking him by the arm and ushering him toward the door.

"The sun's up!" Spike shrieked.

"Good," Angel said coldly. "I hope you land in it!"

Spike wrenched his arm out of Angel's grip and the two stood glaring at each other, both of their chests heaving. Angel was just trying to prove a point, one Spike knew he had, and he resented him all the more for it.

"Screw you, Angel," he said, feeling his bottom lip trembling with rage. "I'll be gone at sundown."

"Spike," Angel called almost apologetically as he watched him mount the stairs three at a time. "Spike, wait. I didn't mean that. Spike!"

Spike ignored him and slammed his door shut as hard as he could. At the first hint of dusk, he was out of there, and he'd never come back.

* * *

"Will it really be different?" Spike whispered, tracing a pattern on the concrete so he didn't have to make eye contact.

"I think so," Angel answered, feeling like his words were coming out completely inadequate. "If we both try just a little."

"But not … not _too_ different, right?" Spike asked with a sniffle, wiping his nose on his sleeve again.

"Not if you don't want it to be," Angel replied gently.

"I don't even know what I want anymore," Spike spat bitterly, stretching his leg out to kick at the metal handrail nearby.

Angel didn't know what to say to that, so he just rubbed his hand up and down Spike's back while they sat there in silence.

"My hand hurts," Spike said, holding out his palm for Angel to see where he'd scraped it during their scuffle in the parking lot.

"Mine too," Angel teased.

"Ha bloody ha," Spike replied. "You brought that on yourself."

"So did you," Angel pointed out.

"Whatever," Spike mumbled, embarrassed again.

"Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?" Angel offered semi-seriously as he took Spike's hand and examined the palm. It was only a light scrape and would heal soon.

"Hell no," Spike answered, pulling his hand away just in case he was serious. "But my arse hurts, too, in case you wanna kiss that..."

"Don't push it," Angel said, giving him a look.

Spike grinned and scrubbed both his hands over his tear-stained face.

"Let's go get Connor," he suggested. "I'm better now. I'm … I guess I'm sorry. For how I acted."

"You guess?" Angel asked, an amused smile on his face.

"Fine, I'm sorry," Spike said with a sigh. "If you're smart, you won't make me say it again, because it kind of nauseates me, and I might vomit in your car..."

"You better not," Angel warned, getting to his feet.

Spike murmured indistinctly as he followed Angel back to the GTX with both hands massaging his throbbing behind.

"I mean it," Angel said more firmly. "You throw up in my car, and you're walking."

"I guess I won't, then," Spike mumbled.

"Hey," Angel said as he reached for the passenger side door. "You wanna drive?"

"You mean it?" Spike asked happily as Angel tossed him the keys over the roof of the car.

It was a bribe to cheer him up, they both knew, but that didn't make it any less appealing. Spike had himself buckled into the driver's seat before Angel could change his mind.

"Come on, Papa!" he urged, motioning for Angel to hurry up and get in the car. "We're losing valuable time here."

"Why do I feel like I just made a huge mistake?" Angel mumbled to himself.


	42. Chapter 42

"Sneaking around?"

Connor jumped and almost lost his grip on the glass he was holding.

"No," he answered. "Couldn't sleep." He glanced pointedly around the kitchen at all the bottles. "I didn't figure anyone would mind if I borrowed a little sleep aid."

Abby laughed.

"So now that you're all awake, you gonna tell me why you're here?" she asked, leaning against the door jamb.

Connor plastered his best smile on his face.

"Can't a guy just come visit his family once in awhile without getting the third degree?"

Abby rolled her eyes.

"Seriously, Connor. What is it? Did he cheat on you? Did you cheat on him? What?"

Connor shook his head at his sister's horribly off-base misconception and recapped the bottle of booze he'd been using.

"Don't you have a party to oversee?" he asked.

"It'll do fine without me for a few minutes," she assured him. "Besides, there comes a point when the hostess needs to sober up a little, you know?"

Connor grinned at her.

"Mom and Dad would have fits if they knew about this. You know that, right?" he asked.

"Are you threatening to blackmail me?" she asked.

"No," Connor replied quickly, and then paused to pretend to think about it. "I mean, not unless I should need to..."

"Con!" she squealed. "You promised you wouldn't tell!"

"And I won't," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Honest. But if I had done something like this, would you have given me the same courtesy?"

Abby laughed.

"What do you think?" she asked. "I'd have called every single relative we have and told on you in a heartbeat. But I'm not a little kid anymore, Connor. You can trust me now. With anything. Like, for instance, with information on your relationship..."

Connor sighed and rolled his eyes as he watched his sister put on her most innocent face. He swirled the ice around in his glass and took a sip while she stood there giving him imploring puppy dog looks.

"Look, sis, it's just … it is so much more complicated than you could ever imagine," he offered, hoping that would satisfy her for the moment.

"Tell me and let me try," she said excitedly, clearly just happy that he'd told her anything at all. "Come on. We'll go up to your room and vent."

"I don't need to vent," Connor said with a bemused smile.

"Sure you do," she said, wrapping her arm in his and leading him back toward the stairs. "Now, tell the truth... Aren't men just the worst?"

* * *

Angel huffed and puffed again and straightened his collar for the third or fourth time.

"Okay, how do I look?" he asked Spike.

"Like an idiot," Spike replied flatly, resting his forearm on the steering wheel as he turned to get a good look.

Angel gave him a hard look of his own, and he grinned sheepishly.

"Like you always do," he amended.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angel asked.

Spike reached a tentative hand toward Angel's head but withdrew it when he pulled back.

"I was just gonna fix your hair," Spike muttered. "No need to get all jumpy about it."

"Sorry," Angel said. "I just..."

"I know," Spike interrupted. "You don't like people touching your hair. Why are you so worried about how you look, anyway? It won't matter. His parents aren't going to be thrilled that you showed up here no matter how dolled up you are."

"I am not 'dolled up,'" Angel mumbled.

"Best shirt. Best trousers. Cologne. Hair all gelled up. All you're missing is your eyeliner," Spike observed teasingly.

Angel turned and gave him a scrutinizing look.

"Stay out of my bathroom drawers," he ordered.

"Right," Spike said noncommittally, then nodded toward the house. "Looks like they're having a party."

"Yeah," Angel agreed. "I hear it. I'd rather not be around all those people, but I guess there isn't much I can do about it. I'm just gonna ask if he's here."

"Okay," Spike said, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait," Angel said with a hand on his arm.

"What?" Spike asked with dread.

"You stay in the car," Angel directed.

"What? Why?" Spike whined. "That's not fair!"

"No arguing," Angel said firmly. "You're one more thing I don't need to have to explain."

"Thanks a lot," Spike grumbled sarcastically.

"I mean it, Will. I'll be back in a few minutes. Just stay in the car."

"Can I at least go for a drive while I wait? There were some sweet curves a couple roads back..."

In response, Angel reached over and yanked the keys from the ignition.

"Bugger."

"Stay put," he warned again.

"Mmm," Spike murmured.

Angel shook his head and got out of the car, turning back twice to make sure Spike was still in the car. Before he was really ready, he'd reached the front door. Connor had definitely been there, and recently, too. He could smell him. He rang the doorbell and waited impatiently, taking the time to smooth out his shirt and comb his fingers through his hair one last time.

* * *

"Speak of the devil!" Abby exclaimed as she moved Connor's curtain aside and peered out into the darkness below.

"What?" Connor asked from his comfy chair, where he had one leg slung over the arm.

"I think that's Angel. No, I'm sure of it. That's Angel," Abby informed him. "He's at the front door!"

"What?" Connor laughed. "He is not. Nice try, sis. I'm not falling for that."

"I swear he is!" she insisted. "Come look."

"No."

"Connor, I'm not bullshitting you. Come look!"

"Abby, cut it out. That's not funny. Angel wouldn't come here. He gets … uncomfortable."

The doorbell rang again, and Connor gave his sister a look.

"You gonna go answer that?"

"You want me to let him in?" she asked.

"Sure, go let in _Angel_," he said disbelievingly, taking another hearty swig of his drink.

"Fine," Abby said. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Abby ran down the stairs with a smirk on her face. She couldn't wait to see Connor's expression when he realized that she hadn't been joking. She rearranged her features into a haughty frown before opening the front door, and to complete the effect, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What do you want?" she asked the man outside.

"Er... Hello," Angel said. He had met this one once or twice, but he hadn't seen her in a long time. "Abigail, isn't it?"

Abby made a face.

"Abby," she corrected. "I go by Abby."

"Right," Angel said uncomfortably. "Abby, is … is Connor here, by any chance?"

"What if he is?" she asked.

"If he is, I'd like to talk to him," Angel said, finding himself bristling at the girl's impertinent attitude.

"Maybe he doesn't wanna talk to you," Abby said coolly. "Ever think of that?"

"Young lady," Angel started, and then stopped himself. He sounded old even to his own ears. "Just … let me talk to him. If he wants me to go, I will. But let me hear it from him, okay?"

Abby opened her mouth to let fly some smart remark, but two of her more inebriated friends stumbled through the living room at that moment, laughing and swearing at the top of their lungs.

"Are they old enough to drink?" Angel asked doubtfully as his eyes followed the boys out of the room. "Abby, are your parents even home?"

Abby gave a nervous laugh and stepped back from the door.

"Fine, you can come in. But if my brother tells you to leave, you have to leave. You better not upset him."

"Why would I upset him?" Angel asked, puzzled.

"Just don't," Abby warned protectively. "Come on, I'll show you where his room is."

"I already know," Angel said before he'd thought better of it. "I'd like to speak to him alone if that's all right with you."

Abby frowned like she didn't approve of the idea, but she nodded reluctantly and let Angel go up the stairs unattended.

Connor heard the footsteps coming, but he still didn't believe it. He'd been incredibly tempted to get up and look out the window as soon as his sister had left his room, but that would have been giving her the satisfaction of pulling one over on him, so he'd just continued to sit there swirling the ice around in his drink.

He jumped at the knock on his door, and when Angel opened it and walked through, he just about had to pick his jaw up off the floor.

"D-Angel!" he corrected as he scrambled to his feet, remembering where he was.

"Connor," Angel greeted, glancing around uncertainly.

Connor set his glass down on his nightstand and fidgeted nervously, twisting up the hem of his "Made in the 80's" t-shirt that Angel was regarding with disapproval.

"What are you doing here?" Connor asked in surprise.

Angel reached into his jacket and pulled out Connor's wallet, which he tossed to him.

"You found my wallet!" he exclaimed happily.

"It found us," Angel said.

"Oh," Connor said. "Spike?"

"He's outside," Angel said.

"Is he still…?"

"Yeah," Angel said with a slight smile. "Still the teenage terror."

"Cool," Connor said lamely. "So, you came all this way to bring me my wallet?"

"A biker showed up at the Hyperion with it, looking for you," Angel informed him with a raised eyebrow. "Said you and Spike trashed his bar. That true?"

Connor gulped and eventually gave his dad a miserable nod.

"We … We didn't exactly start out at Willy's," he admitted reluctantly.

"I see," Angel said.

"You … You wanna sit down or something?" Connor asked, gesturing toward his chair.

"Sure," Angel said, ignoring the chair and perching himself on the edge of Connor's unmade bed.

He patted the covers beside him, and Connor trudged over and planted himself down beside his dad.

"Aren't you tired?" Angel asked gently, pushing Connor's hair back out of his eyes.

"Yeah," Connor said. "Exhausted. I … I haven't had the best couple of days."

"Me neither," Angel said, putting his arm around his son's shoulders and pulling him close so he could kiss him on top of the head. "First, some teenage punks stole my weapons bag..."

"Really?" Connor asked in surprise. He frowned. "Was my axe in there?"

"Well…" Angel said with an apologetic nod, and then continued before Connor could complain too much. "And _then_, then I got shot in the leg..."

"What!" Connor exclaimed, immediately looking him over. "When?"

"Oh, sometime before I got a call telling me to come pick up my drunk son and his underage accomplice," Angel said pointedly, and Connor blushed furiously.

"Sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't know you'd been shot. Why didn't you tell me? Are you okay now?"

"I'm fine," Angel said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "Then, the worst part happened. My son packed his bags and took off without so much as saying goodbye."

Connor didn't know if it was Angel's intention to make him feel miserable or not, but either way, he was doing a fine job of it.

"Yeah, well," he said bitterly, feeling the need to defend himself at least a little, "I'm twenty-five years old, and someone gave me a spanking."

It paled in comparison to being robbed and shot, but it was all he had.

He glanced too little, too late at his bedroom door, just imagining his sister straining her ears to listen on the other side like she'd sometimes done as a child.

"Connor," Angel said firmly, tipping his chin up to look at him. "I'm sorry that you don't think I handled it fairly, but I'm not sorry I did it."

"Whatever," Connor mumbled.

"What did you think, that I'd just let it go?" Angel asked, pressing the issue even though—and maybe especially because—Connor obviously didn't want to talk about it. "Or maybe you thought I would punish Spike and not you?"

"No," Connor said, shaking his head and flushing with embarrassment. "Of course not."

"I love you so much, Connor," Angel said. "You may not feel like that's true right now, but it is."

"I know, Dad," Connor whispered.

"Maybe I came down a little hard on you," Angel admitted, "and I'm sorry if you were embarrassed by it, but you don't need to be. You're my baby boy, and you'll always be my baby boy. That's never going to change, no matter how old and bearded you get. Understand?" Angel asked, running his hand lightly over the stubble on Connor's chin.

"You're just jealous," Connor laughed, pulling his face away and knowing that he must look a wreck.

"Understand?" Angel asked again, ignoring Connor's attempt at humor.

"Yes," Connor replied quietly. "Dad, are you … I mean, are we … Are we okay?"

"I'm okay if you are," Angel replied vaguely.

"You aren't mad at me?" Connor checked. "For … for coming here?"

"Connor, I'm not going to act like I'm thrilled that you ran away from home," Angel replied. "But if you had to do it, I'm glad you came here. I know you think I resent your—"

"Fake family," Connor interrupted.

"No," Angel said firmly, taking him by the chin again and forcing him to make eye contact. "That is _not_ what I was going to say, young man, so stop trying to put words in my mouth."

"Sorry, Dad," Connor said quietly.

"You think I resent your _other_ family, but I don't. Connor, I _gave_ you your other family. Remember?"

Connor nodded, struggling against an emotional lump that was trying to form in his throat.

"Thank you, Dad," he choked out after clearing his scratchy throat a couple times. "I can never say it enough."

"You're very welcome," Angel said simply.

"I shouldn't have left," Connor said softly. "I was just mad. At you and at myself. I'm sorry I let you down. I know what we did was stupid. If you hadn't come and got us, Spike would probably be in juvie and I'd probably be in the drunk tank."

Angel laughed slightly and wrapped his arm around him again.

"I'd have bailed you out," he assured him. "You know, eventually. After I let you suffer for a little while."

"Comforting."

"I do what I can," Angel answered lightly. "Now. Are you going to come home of your own volition, or do I have to carry you out of here kicking and screaming?"

"I thought I might get my own place," Connor brought up halfheartedly.

"Not a chance," Angel assured him.

"Okay," Connor said in clear relief. "But I'll need a ride. My car got towed."

"I know," Angel said. "Spike feels really bad about it."

"He should," Connor said, satisfied.

"Don't be too hard on him," Angel advised. "Remember, he's had a much rougher couple of days than we have. Besides, it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't gone out and gotten into trouble to begin with."

Connor nodded, unable to refute that statement.

"And on the drive home, you'll be filling me in on every single detail of what you guys did last night," Angel said, getting to his feet and pulling Connor up with him. "From the moment you foolishly decided to leave the hotel to the moment I came and got you."

"Are you sure you really even wanna know all that?" Connor asked.

"Every bit of it," Angel insisted. "If any more angry bar owners are going to show up at the hotel, I'd kinda like to have a little advance notice."

"Okay," Connor agreed reluctantly.

"And Connor," Angel said nonchalantly as he watched his son repack what he'd removed from his suitcase. "Are you aware that your sister is throwing an underage party downstairs?"

Connor froze and regarded his father anxiously.

"I had nothing to do with that," he said quickly. "It was going on when I got here."

"I see," Angel said.

"I swear, Angel," Connor insisted nervously. "I didn't. It was all her."

"You could have put a stop to it," Angel suggested.

"Not my place," Connor said firmly, shaking his head. "And besides, what would you do? Kick them all out? Make them drive home? They're not in any shape to drive."

"You're right, son. You're right," Angel said, defeated. "Someone should have a talk with that sister of yours, though..."

"Uh, you do know that you have no authority whatsoever over my sister, right?" Connor asked. "Right? Dad?"

Angel rolled his eyes after a pause that was slightly too long, and Connor opened his mouth to further reiterate the point, but their conversation was suddenly interrupted by piercing, girlish shrieks from downstairs.


	43. Chapter 43

Connor sprinted downstairs expecting the worst because, well, he always expected the worst. He was slightly puzzled when Angel took his time getting down the stairs, but once he reached the den, he understood that his father had probably anticipated this.

"Abby!" he admonished his sister, who was perched happily atop Spike's shoulders being spun around and around while her friends laughed and cheered.

Angel didn't even bother speaking. He simply jabbed a finger at a spot in front of him, indicating for Spike to get his ass over there. Spike's smile faltered slightly, and he leaned over to release Abby, but Angel stopped him with a sharp cluck of his tongue.

"Bring her too," he instructed.

"Angel," Connor said worriedly.

Connor helped his sister down. Spike caught his eye and flashed him a quick grin and a wink before removing all traces of amusement from his face.

"Kitchen, now," Angel said quietly, getting a firm grip on Spike's shoulder.

"Let go!" Abby demanded of her brother, who led her loosely by the wrist.

Angel glanced around the kitchen to make sure they were alone before he turned Spike around and gave him a sound smack on the bottom, making him hiss.

"I told you to stay in the car!" he scolded, and Spike shrugged helplessly.

Abby stared at the scene in shock before regaining her senses and regarding Connor warily, plainly wondering if her brother was about to follow Angel's example with her.

"You weren't kidding about those control issues," she murmured conspiratorially to him once she was satisfied he wasn't going to smack her one.

"What?" Angel demanded.

"Nothing," Connor said quickly, releasing his sister's wrist.

"Abigail, you shouldn't have invited him in," Angel said, motioning toward Spike, who for his part looked incredibly embarrassed and chastened.

"Abby," she corrected with a huff.

"It's dangerous to let people you don't know into your house," Angel continued, ignoring her.

"He said he was with you," Abby said defensively, her face reddening at the lecture. "And besides, he was cute…"

Spike flashed her a huge grin, which he wisely wiped off his face before Angel could catch it.

"He's right," Connor said weakly after clearing his throat. "It is dangerous. Don't ever do it again, okay?"

"I don't see what the big deal is," Abby mumbled toward the floor as she folded her arms across her chest.

Connor caught a glimpse of Angel's jaw working and could tell from experience that he was very near blowing a gasket.

"Abby," he said, taking control of the situation. "Promise me you won't let strangers in, okay?"

"Sure, whatever," she said sullenly.

"I mean it, Abby," Connor said more forcefully. "Promise me."

"Okay, Connor," she whispered, her eyes darting back and forth between her brother and Angel. "Geez."

"You are incredibly lucky that I'm not calling your parents right now," Angel scolded, and Abby turned panicked eyes on her brother.

"He wouldn't do that, would he?" she asked, directing her question only at Connor.

"Oh, he totally would," Connor assured her immediately. "But he's not going to."

"I'm not?" Angel asked.

"You're not," Connor affirmed, and then added a softer, "Please?"

Angel sighed and glanced at the ceiling, admitting defeat.

"I'm gonna go home, Abby," Connor said.

"Really?" she asked, plainly delighted.

"Well, don't look so happy about it!" he exclaimed with a short laugh. "I could show up again at any time, you know."

"I didn't mean..." Abby said, blushing. "Sorry, big brother. I just..."

"Yeah, yeah," Connor interrupted. "I get it. You don't need me around cramping your style."

"Well, maybe I could come visit you sometime," Abby added hopefully, giving Spike a furtive, flirtatious glance which he eagerly returned.

"Oh, God," Angel openly groaned.

"Hey, would you go get my suitcase?" Connor asked his father, giving him a look.

Connor waited for Angel to disappear upstairs before turning a serious glare on his sister and best friend.

"Okay, listen," he said sharply. "You—" he pointed at Spike "—cannot date my sister. I mean it. No way, no how. And you—" he said, jabbing a finger at her before she could protest "—had better be walking the straight and narrow from now on."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Abby grumbled.

"No more unsupervised parties and no more dangerous crap," Connor clarified. "If I ever hear that you let some stranger into this house again..."

"Oh my God, Connor, I already said I wouldn't," Abby interrupted, turning her head to the side and rolling her eyes. "Jesus, you're not my father."

"You're right, I'm not," Connor agreed, leaning in toward her and forcing her to make eye contact with him. "I will be harder on you than Dad ever dreamed of being. You wanna test me on that?"

Spike gave a low whistle, truly impressed with Connor's … whatever the hell it was.

"No," Abby mumbled, looking away.

"Good," Connor said, relieved. He pulled her in and hugged her tightly. "Get back to your party. I'll call more often, okay? I promise."

"Okay," Abby said, giving him a tentative kiss on the cheek before turning back toward the den. "Bye, Connor."

Connor watched with amusement as Abby extended her hand to Spike for a formal handshake. Despite his best mate's sudden display of scariness, Spike had the audacity to lean down and kiss the back of her hand before releasing it, pleased when she flushed with pleasure before exiting the room. Connor rolled his eyes. His sister thought she was so clever...

"I'm coming," Angel said, finally appearing at the bottom of the steps with his son's suitcase. "I'm coming."

"What took you so long?" Spike asked. "Stop for a nap?"

"I could sure use one," Connor said, putting an arm around each of them as he ushered them out the door. "Now hand it over."

"What?" Spike and Angel both said guiltily.

Connor gave his dad a perplexed look but turned to Spike with his hand outstretched.

"Hand it over," he repeated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Spike lied, sniffing and averting his eyes.

"I'm not stupid, Spike," Connor said. "I saw her do it. Now hand it over."

"Bollocks," Spike grumbled, slapping the crumpled slip of paper forcefully into Connor's palm.

Connor ripped up his sister's phone number and shoved it into his pocket before socking Spike squarely on the arm.

"Ow!" Spike protested.

"That was for parking my car in a tow-away zone," Connor informed him as he crawled into the back seat.

"Don't hit your brother," Angel admonished, starting the engine.

Spike waited until Angel wasn't paying any attention to turn around and surreptitiously stick his tongue out at Connor, but the gesture was lost on him as he was already fast asleep.

* * *

_A/N: We are nearing the end. I'm thinking probably two more chapters to wrap this up. Thanks so much for all the reviews. They really do help keep it going, and they always give me ideas!_


	44. Chapter 44

Spike watched dumbly as Angel carried—he actually carried—Connor to bed. Connor only murmured a single soft protest before giving in and wrapping his arms around Angel's neck and allowing him to do it.

This would make for some excellent ribbing later.

Still. Connor was really milking this for all it was worth. Spike was tired, too, but did anybody offer to tuck him into bed? No. Did he get coddled and petted after he'd run away from home? No, the only thing he'd gotten was a promised hiding as soon as he "grew up" again. Did that still stand, or had their parking lot debacle taken care of it? Spike shook his head to dispel such silly notions. With Angel, he could just always assume that his slate was never clean.

"Hey, pal," Angel greeted when he returned to the lobby to find Spike just standing there. "You okay?"

Spike shrugged and gave the floor a hateful glare.

"Hey, what's this?" Angel asked gently as he crossed the room and wrapped his arms right around him. "I thought you were feeling better?"

Spike shrugged as best he could through Angel's embrace.

"Aren't you going to yell at Connor for running away from home?" he finally asked hotly.

"Not tonight," Angel said.

"Right," Spike replied dryly.

"He's tired," Angel said defensively.

"Right."

"Don't you worry. There'll be plenty of time for the yelling later," Angel said lightly, tipping Spike's chin up and ruffling his hair. "Besides, don't worry about Connor at all. Worry about you."

Spike glanced up apprehensively.

"Am I in trouble again?" he asked, searching Angel's face for some hint at the answer.

"No," Angel replied with a sigh. "I'm not happy that all you do is disobey me time and time again, but—"

"No, I don't," Spike interrupted, though it sounded like a fine idea. "...Do I?"

Angel gave him a wry grin.

"'Don't leave the house.' You leave the house. 'Stay here.' You jump off the staircase. 'Wait in the car.' You come in the house and immediately begin romancing Connor's sister..."

"Yeah, yeah," Spike said, embarrassed. "I get it. Maybe if you wouldn't bark so many orders, I wouldn't have such a hard time keeping them all straight."

He thought Angel might scold him some more, but he just chuckled and tightened his embrace to the point that it was kind of painful. Spike wriggled free and gave him another apprehensive glance.

"What?" Angel asked indulgently.

"I need to borrow some more of your clothes. Just until I get things all worked out. Is that okay?" he asked, unsure why he was all of a sudden embarrassed about it.

He would be normal again soon, he knew. Very soon. He could feel it coming, and he really wanted to get as many of his affairs in order as he could before it happened. He silently berated himself for not taking care to make more preparations earlier, because it would be a cold day in Hell before grown-up Spike would ask Angel for anything.

"You already have half my closet," Angel pointed out. "But yeah. Whatever you want."

"Do you have any more leather pants?" Spike asked eagerly, already mounting the stairs.

"No," Angel answered. "Not that'll fit you."

Spike stopped abruptly and spun around to face his grandsire, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Why are those so small?" Spike asked suspiciously. "Whose are they?"

"Yours," Angel answered immediately. "I told you I didn't want them back."

"No," Spike said with a shake of his head. "I mean before. Whose were they before?"

Angel cleared his throat and tried to rid his face of the guilty expression, but he didn't quite succeed.

"They're _hers_, aren't they?" Spike asked accusingly. "They're Buffy's! You have Buffy's trousers hidden in your closet!"

"I do not," Angel mumbled. "Not anymore."

"Oh my God!" Spike exclaimed in genuine horror. "That is just … That is … That is sick, man. You are a sick man."

"It's not like that," Angel said defensively. "I didn't break into her house and steal them or anything. She left them at my place once and I just … I never gave them back."

"Why was Buffy at your house with her trousers off!" Spike yelled.

"Calm down!" Angel whispered. "You're going to wake Connor!"

"I don't give a crap!" Spike said bluntly, turning and sprinting the rest of the way upstairs with Angel hot on his heels. "What else have you got of hers?"

"Nothing," Angel answered quickly. "That was all."

"We'll see," Spike replied skeptically, barging right into Angel's room and pulling hanger after hanger from the closet and dumping the contents unceremoniously into the floor.

"Stop it, Spike. You're making a mess," Angel said weakly as he picked up behind him.

Spike tore every single piece of clothing down from the metal bar. At some point, Angel gave up trying to pick the stuff up and just let him do it. Spike took a huge gulping breath and planted himself straight in the middle of a pile of Angel's clothes before bursting into proper tears.

"It's all right," Angel murmured, kneeling down beside him and patting him awkwardly on the shoulder.

"_I hate you_," Spike spat vehemently, and for once he was one hundred percent sure he meant it. "I hate you so much, Angel."

"It's all right," Angel repeated, sad but otherwise unaffected by the outburst.

"You get everything," Spike continued through his tears and hitching sobs. "You get everything handed to you, and you never have to work for it. You got your soul handed to you when you didn't even want it. You got Buffy's love without even trying, when I did everything I could for her, and what did you do? You just left her. You got a child, Angel. A child! What did you ever do to deserve Connor? All you ever do is muck things up."

Spike was vaguely aware that Angel was stroking his hair and his shoulders, but he carried on.

"You took Dru from me. She was mine, and you took her. You could have her back tomorrow if you wanted her, I'm sure of it. And you had an entire evil corporation at your fingertips..."

"Only one branch," Angel corrected softly, and Spike laughed bitterly, realizing he'd gone from rant to ramble but not especially caring.

"...and all those cars in the motor pool," he continued, losing steam.

"Yes, those were nice," Angel agreed. "I did like those."

"You mucked that up, too," Spike said accusingly, though he wasn't entirely sure it was true.

"Yes," Angel agreed anyway, dropping kisses on top of Spike's head. "Yes, I did."

"I hate you," Spike repeated after a moment, though with much less conviction and more than a little remorse. "I'm sorry, but I do."

"That's all right," Angel said soothingly. "You have every right to."

Spike turned misty, red-rimmed eyes toward his grandsire and scrutinized him carefully. He appeared to have meant what he said, and Spike didn't quite know how to reply to that, or even if he should. He took several deep, shaky breaths and tried to get himself under control. With control came shame and regret, however, and he turned and buried his face in Angel's chest where he knew he'd get comfort even though he didn't deserve it.

"You're all right," Angel murmured softly as he continued to rub his back and shoulders. "We're all right."

Angel said the words as much for himself as for Spike. He was never going to be allowed to keep that happy teenager forever. He'd known that, sure, but watching him slip away still hurt more than he'd thought it would. Even after two hundred years, things always hurt more than he'd thought they would.

"...Angel?" Spike asked timidly after he'd calmed down and several minutes of silence had passed.

"Yes?"

"Should I go and get you the hairbrush?"

Angel laughed, and the rumbling felt good to Spike, who still had his face hidden in his chest.

"No, pal," he answered. "Not this time. I'll tell you a secret."

"What?" Spike asked, his stuffy nose muffling his voice.

"Sometimes I hate me, too."

If that was meant to be comforting, it failed utterly, and Spike began to weep again. Angel stood up, pulling him with him, and he thought he might get that smacking after all. Instead, he found himself scooped right up into Angel's arms and being carried in the direction of his room.

"What are you doing?" he asked tearfully.

"Putting my little boy to bed," Angel answered. "He's tired."

Angel lay him on his bed and easily removed his boots before pulling the covers up tightly around him and leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead. Spike watched him the whole time with sad, glistening eyes.

"Angel?" he asked when it was clear that he was going to leave without further conversation. "You … you could stay?"

"If you want," Angel said softly.

In reply, Spike slid over to make room for him and held the covers open. Angel kicked off his own boots and slid in next to him, giving him one of those uncomfortable looks that he chose to ignore. Spike wrapped his arm tightly around his grandsire's middle and snuggled his face down into the crook of his neck.

"I'll clean up your room tomorrow," he promised softly.

"You certainly will," Angel answered to the top of his head.

"I didn't mean all that stuff I said," Spike murmured, nearly overcome with guilt and the desire to make it go away.

"Yeah, you did," Angel said knowingly. "You meant every word. But it's okay. We'll work on it. Together."

Spike cleared his constricted throat and took a deep breath before responding. He was going to have one hell of an emotional hangover the next day.

"Angel... Papa..." he said, making his voice as strong as he could under the circumstances, "love and hate, they're not mutually exclusive, you know."

Angel was silent a moment, and Spike didn't dare look into his face for fear of the anger and rejection he might find there.

"I love you, too," Angel finally whispered after he'd mulled it over for a bit. "Now go to sleep."


	45. Chapter 45

Spike groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. He had no idea what time it was, but he was pretty sure he still wasn't ready to begin the day. He may never be ready to begin this day. His head hurt, his face hurt … his bum kinda hurt, too… Oh no. He reached a tentative hand to his left and felt around until his suspicions were confirmed.

"Angel," he groaned without opening his eyes.

"Mmm," Angel acknowledged sleepily.

"I'm going to need you to do me a favor."

"Okay," he agreed groggily.

"I'm going to need you to break a leg off the nightstand over there and drive it straight through my heart."

Angel sat bolt upright with that request and looked him over carefully.

"Spike!" he exclaimed, and then his face fell a little before he could stop it. "Spike."

"Yeah," Spike confirmed, not needing to see Angel's expression to recognize the disappointment. "It's me. All growed up."

"I'll just … I'll … I should..."

Angel scrambled out of bed after he got his feet untangled from the blankets and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room running his fingers through his hair simply to occupy his hands.

"It's all right," Spike said flatly, keeping his eyes covered. "We all know how you like to crawl into bed with teenagers."

"What? You—You _asked_ me!" Angel sputtered indignantly.

"Don't recall," Spike lied easily, pleased at how worked up Angel was getting, and they'd not even had breakfast yet.

"Spike..."

"Angel, I..." Spike said earnestly, abandoning all traces of his usual snark and lifting his head to peer at his grandsire, "I think I need some time alone."

"Yeah," Angel agreed, though the sigh he added showed his reluctance. "Okay, pal."

Spike grinned wryly at the term of endearment Angel had unconsciously thrown his way and dropped his head back down once the other man had left the room. He grabbed a pillow and held it firmly over his face, regretful that he wouldn't smother no matter how long he lay there. Pity. That would make things so much easier.

He should kill Harmony, that silly bint. He really should. After all, even though she was quite terrible at it, she was still evil. Why had he even gone to her in the first place? That was rather stupid of him. But, she did have a pretty, familiar face, and she'd offered him the comfort he'd needed at the time. Who would offer it to him now?

Life was about to get very complicated.

He'd made a complete and utter fool out of himself time and again, that was for sure. God, did he really insist that they go to the park to feed ducks and play on swing sets? And was that really him who'd thrown an ice cream cone in a packed shopping mall? Snuck out a window after being sent to his room for destroying an iPhone?

Shit.

He'd have to work the rest of his life to pay him back for that damn thing.

But Connor, caving like he had and taking him out on the town—now that had been funny. He didn't regret a bit of that night. Well, maybe getting his mate's car towed, but he'd get it back.

All right, then, _two_ things were certain—Spike had made a fool of himself time and again, and Connor was a terrible babysitter.

He sighed.

That neighbor kid would be coming round again, too, no doubt. What was his name? Timmy? Tommy? Mark? What was he supposed to tell him? Hopefully he'd be satisfied with a simple, "Piss off," but he probably wouldn't, and Spike wasn't sure he had the heart to tell him that anyway. He was a nice enough kid.

But, more importantly, how exactly was he supposed to date Connor's sister now that he had inexplicably aged several years? She was young and hot, a real party girl from the looks of things. She didn't want some old man like him hanging around all the time. No, he could pretty much kiss that prospect goodbye.

Damn. That sucked.

Still, there had been some great moments, too. Connor and his papa had taken real good care of him, all things considered...

Wait. His what now?

A deep frown crossed his brow.

Angel had been mocking him this whole time, letting him call him that name!

He sat up and, needing something tangible upon which he could release his frustrations, wadded his pillow into a ball before punching it as hard as he could.

It wasn't satisfying, not at all.

And, surprisingly, he found he wasn't really all that frustrated anyway. Angel had his faults, but as much as Spike wanted to charge him with mockery of the highest order, well... He knew it wasn't true. Angel had _liked_ being his papa, he'd _wanted_ to be his papa—and that was almost worse.

He hung over the side of the bed and reached way back underneath it until he found his journal. He opened it up and was immediately struck by the sheer profoundness of the words his teenage self had scrawled there. He cleared his throat for a dramatic reading.

"_'Angel is a prat.'_"

"Heh," he laughed approvingly to himself, "well, that's certainly true. Let's see..."

"_'He wouldn't get me anything I liked at the mall, and then he embarrassed me in front of some girls. He didn't even care, and he didn't say he was sorry! Connor didn't tell him how I got brought home by the cops, but he was pissed off anyway and I got in trouble. I'm way too old for that, and I didn't let him see me cry, because that's just what the wanker wanted. I'm done with this place and I'm done with him. He'll be really sorry when I leave, even if he does hate me. Two can play at that game.'_"

Spike wrinkled his nose and wondered if maybe he should tear that page out. He decided against it, though, because as a whole, the journal meant more of it was uncensored, honest. He flipped a few pages ahead to see what else he'd written.

"_'I think Connor's going to do something stupid. The other night he kept asking me all these questions about Harmony and how exactly she'd had me cursed. I told him I didn't know many details, but of course I know enough. I'll never tell him, though, because I don't want to have to help take care of a dumb little kid and watch Angel fall all over himself to try and please him.'_"

He grinned to himself, knowing that last part was exactly what Connor must have been feeling for the past few weeks.

"_'I grew up today! Well, some anyway. Angel is letting me have full reign of his closet... He just doesn't know it yet.'_"

Entries got sparse after that, with only a few crude—and a couple lewd—drawings and some poorly constructed poems. Angel had once asked him why he'd stopped writing, since he "used to be a poet." Spike shook his head. Angel never did understand such things. A man didn't "used to be" a poet—a poet was eternal.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling. Clearly, the easiest solution would be to stay in this room the rest of his life. He had some damage to repair after his outburst last night, though. Did he hate Angel, did he really? Absolutely. With all his unbeating heart, he hated him. He hated his hair and the sound of his voice; he hated the way his coat swished when he walked. He hated his taste in music and that he never understood any of Spike's TV show references. He hated him for being with Buffy first, and for that damn Shanshu prophesy that was probably about him. He hated how he often treated him like a child, and how he was almost always right.

He hated him for all those things and more.

But he couldn't bear the thought that Angel might hate him back.

* * *

"What's he doing in there?" Angel asked curiously. "He's been at it for hours."

"Dunno," Connor lied around his mouthful of food.

"Did he tell you?" Angel asked. "Is he up to something?"

"Just leave him alone, Dad. I think he's in some sort of shock or something. Just let him be."

"You know more than you're telling," Angel accused, pointing a finger at him in mock warning.

"I do not," Connor laughed, dodging the playful punch Angel had aimed at his arm. "Leave me alone, too."

"Never," Angel said, ruffling his hair. "You'll always be my little boy."

"Yes, you made that abundantly clear already today," Connor mumbled.

"You had that comin', so I don't wanna hear it," Angel said.

"Yes, sir, Dad, sir," Connor dutifully replied, giving him a mock salute.

Angel narrowed his eyes at him, but Connor charmed him with a sheepish smile, so he let it go. He turned back to the closed conference room door.

"Seriously, what's he doing in there?"

* * *

It was kind of childish, having secret arts and crafts time—and for such a twisted purpose, too—but Spike tried not to think about that as he glued the photos in with more painstaking care than he'd used on anything in a good long while. It was all he had, and it needed to be perfect. Who cared how long it took? He had all the time in the world. Besides, the longer he stayed holed up in here working on his project, the later he had to face Angel.

The photos were cute. Damn cute, thanks to their subject. He didn't even know when some of them had been taken, and there were even a few that he'd thought were lost when he'd broken Connor's phone. Connor had printed them all out for him, keeping his questions to a minimum, and when Spike had tried falteringly to explain himself, he'd shook his head and said,

"Dude. It's fine. I get it. Early Father's Day gift, right?"

Spike had looked horrified at that statement, but Connor had continued on before he could punch him for it.

"Don't think you're going to outdo me, though. I'm getting him a new spatula."

"What?" Spike had laughed. "Why would you want to encourage him?"

Connor shrugged.

"Stupidity?" Spike asked.

"Maybe," Connor conceded. "Listen, I'm glad you're back. I missed you."

"I missed you, too, but let's not go getting all mushy about it," Spike grumbled. "What, d'you want a kiss or something?"

Connor had rolled his eyes as he'd slapped the last of the photos on the table. He gave him a genuine smile before departing and leaving him to it.

"It" was really something. In his mind—and never, ever aloud—he'd begun to call it his "baby book." He'd read the journal twice cover to cover before finalizing the decision, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Angel deserved to have it, and besides, it was just the kind of sappy crap his grandsire loved.

One more flip-through, though, and he rethought that business about it being worth more uncensored. He took a black magic marker and drew a single thick line across that bit about being brought home by the police. He didn't have a death wish, after all.

There.

He blew out a sigh as he jotted a note on the last blank page, a note that he knew was inadequate and yet conveyed everything he felt needed saying:

"_Thanks."_

* * *

Spike knocked hesitantly at Angel's bedroom door, half hoping that he wouldn't answer. He did, however, and he'd surely heard him coming long before the knock.

"Just a minute," he called. "Hang on."

Something about his tone of voice made Spike ignore those instructions and barge right in.

"I said just a minute!" Angel said hotly, dabbing at his eyes as he tried to hide something in his sock drawer.

"What are you doing?" Spike asked suspiciously. "Are you crying?"

"No," Angel quickly denied.

"You are!" Spike accused, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. "You're crying! What'd you put in your dresser that's making you so sad?"

"None of your business," Angel said shortly. "And I'm not crying. What do you want?"

Spike dropped his wrapped gift onto the nightstand without comment and made his way straight for the dresser. Angel immediately tried to block his way, but he ducked underneath his arm and dived for it.

"Stop it, Spike!" Angel said angrily, grabbing for him and missing. "It's private."

Spike snatched the photo straight out from its barely concealed hiding place and looked at it in confusion while Angel stood helplessly by and let him.

"Who is... Is this Connor?" Spike finally asked as realization dawned on him. "This little boy in the photo?"

"Yeah," Angel said tightly. "It is."

"You stole this from his parents' house," Spike commented non-judgmentally.

"I didn't 'steal' it," Angel said, dropping down onto his bed and burying his face in his hands.

"Fine," Spike replied easily, "then you liberated it from its frame. Whatever. I don't care. You think this is what he really looked like when he was little?"

"I don't know," Angel murmured bitterly. "How would I know?"

"He's cute," Spike offered.

"Yeah," Angel answered softly as a rogue tear rolled down his cheek. "Listen, Spike. I'm sorry. I-I'm not very good company right now. What did you want?"

"Nothing," Spike answered quietly, handing the photo back to him. "It can wait. Good night, Angel."

Spike backed out of his room and shut the door behind him, not bothering to take his homemade gift with him. Angel would like the journal and the photos, but Spike realized he had access to something a thousand times better that he could give him, something that would mean so much more.

Connor would be mad, but he'd get over it eventually.

Spike knew what he had to do.

He had to go see a witch about a curse.

* * *

_A/N: This was the last official chapter, but there will be a little epilogue._


	46. Epilogue

"Sign here, here, and here."

Boy, times had changed. They sure didn't do things like they used to. He hadn't exactly expected warts and cauldrons in the woods—he'd learned better than that from Willow—but he certainly hadn't expected penthouse office, either.

"And initial here."

Spike slowly added his alias' signature on the indicated lines, frowning and looking warily at the witch the entire time. He couldn't help but feel like he was making a huge mistake.

"Don't worry," she said cheerfully, perhaps literally reading his mind, "it'll be fine. I do these types of things all the time."

"Yeah, I know," he said dryly. "Victim, remember?"

"'Victim' is such an ugly word," she chided defensively. "It couldn't have been all that bad if you're requesting it be done for your friend."

"_To_ my friend," he corrected. "_To_ him, not for him. Make no mistake, it doesn't matter how you dress it up—" he waved a hand around the fancy office "—this is still strictly a _dis_service you're doing here. And your prices are outrageous."

"Do you want it done or not?" she snapped impatiently.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, sniffing indignantly. "Just get on with it, then."

"Good," she said, pleased again for no apparent reason. "The last thing I will need is—"

"Something of his, I know," Spike interrupted, heading toward the door. "Follow me."

"Nice, very nice," the witch said approvingly as she followed him into the parking garage and took a look at the Mustang. "Does he know you stole his car?"

"Er... Borrowed it, love," Spike said with a sly grin. "Only borrowed. I mean, you … You don't have to _keep_ it for the spell to work, right?"

"Right," she said after letting him sweat it out for a few seconds.

"Get to it, then," he invited.

The professional little witch put her hands on the car and got to work, and Spike thought it was the perfect time to reach into his jacket for a smoke. He'd been jonesing for some of that delicious nicotine so badly, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he smoked in his mate's car. And for him, never was a long time.

"It is done," she declared, clapping her hands together as if to dust them off. "Goodbye and good luck."

"Wait," Spike said. "Are you sure? I mean, how can I tell? How do I know it worked?"

"I suggest calling him," she answered with a wry smile. "Goodbye."

With that final note on the subject, the witch did a little poofy thingy and disappeared. That was bad customer service and downright rude if you asked him, but who was he to tell her how to run her business? He took one last drag off his cig before stomping it out on the concrete and jumping into the car. He had to hurry back to the Hyperion, and if he was to make it before sunup, he'd have to do some serious speeding. California was a long damn state.

* * *

He wasn't going to call. He'd nicked Angel's cell phone before he'd left, so he had the means to do so, but he wouldn't. He'd already made up his mind that calling would be the wrong thing to do. It would spoil the moment or something. It'd be all, "Look what I did! Me, me, me!" Spike had already had his time. Angel needed to enjoy those first special moments with his little boy.

Still, it was rather disconcerting that half an hour had passed and he hadn't received a call. Surely his grandsire had figured it out by then. He was stupid, yeah, but not completely clueless. Though, Spike supposed, it was entirely possible that he didn't know his own cell phone number...

"Bugger this, I'm calling," he murmured to himself.

The phone in the hotel lobby rang. And rang. And rang some more. He hung up right as the machine got it.

He really, really didn't want to, but he was going to have to try Connor's cell. If the kid was going to have an angry meltdown on him, over the phone was as good a time as any. Better, even.

"Hi!" Connor answered brightly, taking Spike by surprise.

"Er... Hello," he said carefully, using the guarded tone that one uses with moody, temperamental children. "It's Spike."

"I know, silly," Connor said, laughing.

"Right," Spike said uncertainly. "Listen, Connor, I know you're angry with me right now, but I did it for a good reason, and..."

"I'm not mad," Connor assured him.

"You're not?"

"No. Why would I be mad? We're playing and having lots of fun!"

"Connor, put your dad on the phone, please," Spike said, growing more and more uneasy.

"He can't talk right now," Connor informed him.

"He can't … Connor, he is home, isn't he?" Spike asked, feeling something akin to fear and pushing the gas pedal almost to the floor. "You aren't home alone, are you?"

"He's here," Connor replied.

"Then why didn't he answer the hotel phone when I called?" Spike asked suspiciously.

"We couldn't reach it!" Connor exclaimed happily.

"'We?'" Spike asked. "What do you mean, 'we?' Connor, what are you doing? Where's your dad?"

"He's hiding," Connor said. "We're playing hide and go seek!"

"That's … That's great. Now, listen to me very carefully. I need you to call your dad out of hiding, okay? You can finish up your game in a few minutes after I talk to Angel, all right?"

"Oh, fine," Connor mumbled sulkily.

Spike held the cell away from his ear as he heard Connor bellow at the top of his lungs for his father.

"Hello?" a little boy's voice said again after a moment.

"Connor, I told you I needed Angel," Spike said impatiently. "Now be a good boy and put him on the phone, please."

"This is Angel!" the boy said cheerfully.

"No," Spike said, shaking his head and reaching into his coat to pull out another cigarette, the smell be damned. "No, it can't be."

"It is!" the boy insisted, much less cheerful this time. "It is Angel!"

"If this is a joke, it isn't funny."

Spike shook his head in disbelief. No. No, this was not happening to him. It was not. It couldn't be. He wouldn't allow it to be.

"It's him!" he heard Connor shout in the background. "It's my dad!"

Twin peals of laughter were all he heard for a good forty-five seconds while he attempted and failed to process this horrible information.

"Angel," he said loudly, hoping to get his attention. "Angel. _Liam_!"

The giggling abruptly stopped and an apprehensive little voice said,

"Yes?"

"Angel," Spike said slowly, "why are you small, too? What happened?"

"I don't know," Angel said airily, completely carefree. "I thought you did it."

"Well … Well, I guess I did do it," Spike said, puzzled, "but I didn't mean to. I took Connor's car because the witchy one needed something of his to do the spell, and..."

"Oh, that's what happened, then," Angel said, and Spike imagined him nodding solemnly.

"What?" he asked. "What happened? What do you mean? Why would the car make it hit both of you?"

"Because," Angel said with another giggle—he could hear Connor joining in in the background—"who do you think co-signed for the loan?"


End file.
